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snailor-bee · 2 years

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Revolutionary Army Helper

A request for @strawhat-bast! She wanted choking and stockings, along with a dominate Sabo. I hope I did okay dear! (✿◡‿◡) I tried for a different tone and it still kinda ended up sweet?? I am incapable of writing anything else apparently...(Also why is all my writing for you specifically over 4k? LOL.)

Sabo x F!Reader / NSFW / 4.7k Summary: Joining the Revolutionary Army wasn’t anything like you imagined. Warnings: Almost getting caught, choking, public places.

You’ve always wanted to join the Revolutionary Army. All your life, you wanted to make a difference. And this was the way you were going to do it. It had taken ages for you to find a contact that had an in with the army. You’d proven your worth, finally, and gotten passage to their home base. (In secret, of course. Blindfolded and a bunch of other safety precautions, you understood but damn that ship ride was crazy.)

It wasn’t all you thought it would be. Even if you had gotten to the base, you were still being tested it seemed. It made sense, they didn’t want any traitors in their mist but you were basically acting like a glorified secretary/cleaning lady. You wanted to help! Be useful! Instead, you were putting away books and cleaning the floor of the library. You sighed as you made your way around the room.

The ‘library’ acted as both a library with large bookshelves taking up the walls and space within the large room, but it also housed the classroom, long tables lined behind one another in front of a larger desk, behind which a chalkboard was attached to the wall. It was empty, as it so often was at this time of day while you cleaned.

Moving quickly, you accidentally brushed the corner of the main desk, and it brushed over your clit in a way that made you gasp. Pausing, you took another look around the room. It was still empty. A buzz went down your spine. You were always so exhausted when you went to bed, you hadn’t had any time to…take care of yourself. Placing the books down a little further away on the desk, you readjusted yourself on the corner. It was fine right? You were alone, you knew that. Maybe you could grab a little bit of pleasure.

Pressing your hands against the desktop, you started rubbing your pussy on the edge, and ohhhhh a shiver went down your spine. It really had been too long, even these teasing brushes were enough to get you in the mood rather quickly. Breathing heavily, you bent your knees slightly to get even more pressure. Would this be enough to make you cum? You weren’t sure, but you were willing to give it a try.

Someone cleared their throat and your eyes flew open in alarm. At some point you had closed them and not seen or heard someone come in!?! Embarrassment and dread welled up in your stomach as you hurriedly stepped away from the desk.

Sabo stood there, grinning playfully at you and your stomach clenched with shame. Of course it had to be the second in command, how else would this play out? It just HAD to be someone like him. You were getting kicked out for sure, or maybe even killed?! You felt like you might just die of embarrassment from the situation alone, maybe you could spare them the trouble.

“Well now, looks like someone’s been having fun!” Sabo commented gleefully and you clenched your fists.

“I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean—“

“Ah, ah! You did, don’t try to deny it. I didn’t walk into you ‘accidentally’ masturbating with the desk, now did I?” He even did finger quotes and you felt your face heat but shook your head. “No, I didn’t. Come on, let’s see if we can’t figure out something better than you abusing a poor desk hm?” He walked a few steps closer and your eyes widened in alarm. What?? What did he mean by that?

He seemed to recognize your hesitation and slowed. “Unless you weren’t interested?”

“Interested in what?” You finally found your voice enough to ask. Immediately his grin was back as he came to stand behind the desk. He gestured you closer and, feeling overwhelmingly confused, you took a step towards him. Easily he reached out and grabbed you around your waist and tugged you until you hit his chest.

“In getting some relief of course! I’d be more than willing to help out a pretty girl such as yourself,” he winked. “Again, only if you were interested though.” Your mind was in a whirl. What!? He wasn’t serious?! Sabo, the Sabo of the Revolutionary Army was offering to, what, have sex with you? The silence stretched, as Sabo stared into your eyes, seemingly waiting for your answer. For a moment, you got lost in his eyes. The blue within them so crystal clear, it was memorizing. Even the scar over one side of his face didn’t detract from how pretty you found them.

This was so confusing, you didn’t know what was going on. All you could feel was his body pressed up tightly against your own, the smell of his spicy cologne heavy in the air and your pussy twitched.

“I…would be interested,” you finally managed to spit out, pass the confusion. If he was offering, then you’d be a fool not to take it right??

Sabo smiled brightly. “Great!” In a single motion he had you pressed against the desk, back towards the rest of the room, still standing. Instinctually you grabbed onto the edge of it. Quickly his gloved hands went for your waistband, undoing the button and pulling down the zipper. You cast an anxious look over your shoulder at the room.

“Here?!” You hissed. “What if we get caught?” Sabo chuckled and the sound of it; deep and silky made you weak in the knees.

“You didn’t seem all that concerned just a moment ago, hm? Don’t worry I’ll keep an eye out.” He pulled down your pants and underwear in one smooth motion. “Step out of only one leg, so it’s easier to put on if you need to,” he instructed, and you easily stepped out of your flats and did as he said. Luckily you hadn’t worn shoes with laces today. Pants out of the way Sabo licked his lips as he slowly grabbed the tip of each glove finger on his right hand and tugged, before sliding off one glove and pocketing it.

He placed his middle finger on your lips. “Suck.” You blinked in surprise. His smile widened. “Don’t you want this to go by faster? If you take too long someone might walk in.” Quickly you opened your mouth and he shoved his finger inside, almost gagging you with how deep he got. He didn’t let you lick or suck yourself really, just pushed his way inside and used your mouth to coat his finger. Job done, he pulled away and saliva followed the finger.

Sabo hummed with approval before bringing his hand down to your core. He used the finger to circle around your clit before teasing the walls of your folds. You shuddered, the combination of his warm hand mixed with the chill of the room making this feel so much more intense.

“So wet already,” Sabo observed. “The desk was that good huh?” Before you could reply, he suddenly shoved a finger inside and you bit down on a moan. He only did a few, short thrusts before he adjusted the angle and started to piston inside of you. It was so fast, so soon, and you moaned. Sabo’s blue eyes stared at you hungrily, his blond curls framing his face so well. “Better keep quiet, if you don’t want to be found out,” he said and you nodded while covering your mouth with a hand.

He added another finger and you had to close your eyes. The intensity, and the fact that he was just staring at you made it hard to keep them open. You still had no idea how you’d gotten into this position to begin with.

“Think you can come like this?” Sabo asked offhandedly and you nodded through muffled gasps. “Hmm.” He didn’t sound convinced. A gloved hand brushed aside your hair and you jumped at the unexpected touch. Your eyes flew open, but Sabo had already leaned closer and before you could puzzle out what he was doing, bit you at the junction between your shoulder and neck, hard. At the same time, he curled his fingers and pressed against you in such a way that had you arching, orgasm slamming through you.

You were panting as he withdrew from your neck and his fingers slipped out of you. Instantly his fingers were back at your mouth. “Open,” he demanded and with the way you were already panting, didn’t wait for an answer as he shoved his fingers inside. The sharp tang of yourself filled your mouth. “Clean it up.” This time he waited patiently and didn’t try to gag you as you licked and sucked yourself off his fingers. Finally he withdrew and gave you a once over. You bet you didn’t look pretty, one pant leg still wrapped around your ankle, hair a mess, panting and flushed. Sabo beamed at you.

“Now then, that’s better isn’t it? C’ya!” He tipped his hat at you before making his way around the desk and walking out of the room. You stared at his back before the sound of the door closing snapped you out of it and you rushed to put on your pants. What the fuck was that?! You asked yourself with horror, as the taste of yourself lingered in your mouth. (Later on, you’d find a huge bruise on your neck to your chagrin. You hadn’t even had sex, nor had he sucked at the bite. He literally gave you a BRUISE from a BITE?? Crazy. The man was crazy.)

You thought maybe that would have been the end of it. Something weird occurred; you’d ignore the man, and he would ignore you and both of you would pretend this never happened.

That’s not what ended up happening. No, instead Sabo seemed to take your strange coupling as permission and would randomly show up to ‘assist’ you. It never went further than him fingering you or you giving him a blow job, all hurried sessions in abandoned rooms scattered throughout the base. But as time went on, his demands kept getting more and more…intense.

Which is how you found yourself on your knees, outside, sucking on his dick. He leaned casually against the rock wall behind him and watched you work. The wind blew and you shivered. Sabo had insisted you wear a skirt, without panties. He smiled, wickedness shining through the otherwise lovely smile.

“Yeah? How does it feel, ass hanging out in the breeze huh? I bet your soaking, you always get so wet after sucking on my cock. Like it so much, don’tca?” To further his point, he suddenly thrust forward, making you gag and breaking your rhythm. “I wish I could see it, bet you look so good, dripping wet, wind kicking up that skirt every now and again.” He sighed wistfully. “Another time perhaps.” You mentally rolled your eyes but didn’t let off, sucking and licking along his shaft. Then suddenly a ‘purururu’ broke the silence around you. Your eyes widened but before you could pull back, a hand buried itself in your hair and kept you locked on his dick. You tried to push back but it was like iron, keeping you in place. You looked up and saw him throw another wicked smile your way as his other hand dug into his pocket and withdrew a ringing den den mushi.

Clicking it, he cheerfully chirped out a “Sabo here!” While with his other hand he started guiding you into a fast pace. You breathed heavily through your nose, trying not to make much noise, as Koala started berating him for something or other. The bastard, he always liked it deep and messy, drool dripping down your chin. You didn’t like it yourself, as you kept wanting to swallow the spit down or wipe it away but Sabo insisted. Wanted you to let it all out, just cover his dick with drool. Kinda gross but at the moment you were more concerned with making him cum and releasing you from this horrible embarrassment. Sloppy wet slurping filled the air and you prayed with everything you had that the den den mushi wasn’t picking it up. Sabo’s fingers dug into your hair and increased the pace, his dick sliding in and out of your mouth, drool dripping down your chin. You dug your fingers into his clothed thighs, trying to hang on. Finally, you heard him grunt as he pushed himself down the back of your throat. You gagged, tears running down your cheeks as he started coming, almost choking you. You swallowed desperately, trying to breathe before he withdrew and you collapsed against his thighs, struggling to breathe without being too loud.

“Everything okay?” You heard Koala ask with concern. Sabo chuckled as he ran a hand over your head, in a reassuring way.

“Yeah everything’s fine, just stubbed my toe.”

In the end, Sabo had to leave without finishing you off in return, a fact that seemed to make him grin with satisfaction. You seethed silently as you pushed a mop down the hallway. Your thighs rubbed against each other in an uncomfortable way, the slick dry and causing almost a rash as you walked. Maybe you could go change? You thought about it, might be a good idea. Just finish this hallway, stop by quickly in your room and change. Sabo couldn’t complain and even if he did, fuck him he’s the one who left you like this in the first place—

The thought was suddenly cut off as hands grabbed you and pulled you into a dark room. You opened your mouth to scream but something covered it, muffling your shout. You blinked frantically, heart pounding as your eyes tried to adjust to the dark. Then the smell of leather hit your nose and your body relaxed. It was just Sabo. You shoved your body back and broke out of his hold as he laughed lowly.

“What was that for?” He asked voice sly.

“Don’t just grab people like that!” You replied, loud and angry. He shushed you, as warm hands grabbed at your arms and pulled you closer. You still couldn’t see a thing.

“Be quiet, you don’t want to be overheard do you?” Sabo whispered, apparently close enough you could feel the ghost of his breath over your lips, and you stilled. The two of you had never kissed before, was this the moment? But no, you felt him pull away and you licked your lips with disappointment. The smell of cleaning supplies finally caught your awareness and you realized this was probably the cleaning closet.

“Really, a closet?” You grudgingly whispered back. Sabo gently guided you, turning you around until you faced away from him. Wrapping an arm around your waist he pressed you against his body and nuzzled his face into your neck, dropping kisses that made you shiver.

“It’ll be fun,” Sabo said, a grin in his voice. You could feel his hardness pressed against your ass and you wiggled against it.

“Eager are we? You just came not to long ago,” you teased and he huffed out a laugh.

“Only for you my dear,” he replied as he wound a hand between the two of you and made quick work to release his already hard cock from his trousers. You scoffed before Sabo positioned himself between your legs, pressing you slightly forward. His cock rubbed against your entrance, and you bit your lip against a groan.

You squeezed your thighs together tighter, and Sabo sighed from behind you before he started thrusting, arms wound around your midsection. It didn’t take long for you to grow wet again, coating his warm dick and making the slide of it easier. Sabo groaned into your hair.

“Always get so wet for me, feels good doesn’t it?”

“Are you always such a talker or is it just for me?” You muttered back, only a little annoyed as you tilted your hips to try and increase the speed. Sabo laughed before both of you jolted in alarm as a yell of ‘Sabo!’ echoed down the hallway.

It was Koala, you squirmed trying to break out of his hold but he held you fast. “Be quiet,” he hissed in your ear urgently. The tone made you stop moving and you could hear Koala’s voice as well as her heels clicking as she walked.

“Ugh, you take your eyes off that guy for one second and he’s already gone. SABO!” She yelled again, voice filled with annoyance. She was getting closer, the sound of her voice and heels increasing. Sabo slowly leaned back, and you thought he was taking a step back but no, he thrust forward suddenly and your eyes widened. Did he want to get caught? A hand covered your mouth and Sabo bent you roughly in half. Your hands blindly reached out and caught yourself on a wall. Sabo grunted into your ear as he started pounding you from behind, and you held in your moans as Koala’s voice echoed down the hall beside you.

There wasn’t nearly enough friction for you, his tip only giving you fast, passing teasing grazes on your clit. Your fingers clenched and you desperately wished Sabo would finally stop with all the teasing and just shove his way inside you. Even as Koala passed the door, voice right next to your ear as she muttered angrily, her voice carried as it swept past the closet you were in, and you whimpered.

A gloved hand suddenly caressed your thigh, and you would have jumped if you had any room to move. As it was, Sabo was completely plastered against your back, one hand still covering your mouth, making you breathe in leather through your nose, as the other trailed over your clit teasingly.

“Want it?” He whispered and you nodded frantically. Finally, his fingers started circling your clit, the leather so different from normal skin before they finally gave you the friction you needed and he thumbed at your clit with large strokes while still thrusting his dick across your folds and you came, stars dancing across your eyes in the otherwise dark room.

Pain bloomed as Sabo once again bit at your shoulder before his hips started twitching, small gentle thrusts which you took to mean he was coming. Your nose wrinkled as he finally took away his hand from your mouth. You hoped you weren’t the one who had to clean that up.

“Hey doll, wanna do me a favor?” Your eyebrow twitched at the nickname as he finally released you. “Next time we met, do the same thing, no panties with a skirt. But wear a garter belt and stockings for me okay?” You folded your arms, even though he couldn’t see it.

“ Why should I? What makes you think I even have that?”

“Aw pigeon,” his hands sought you out and grabbed onto an arm, making you unfold them. “I’ll make it worth your while.” Into the palm of your hand, he deposited some fabric and you scowled. He really just had that in his pocket huh? “Meet me in the library tomorrow.” He told you, before leaving the closet, coattails fluttering behind him.

You cleaned the library, feeling like a fool. Why did you listen to him!? You asked yourself angrily, as you looked at the step ladder and the books you needed to shelve. Sighing, you resolved to listen for the door as you stepped up. One hand automatically smoothed down your skirt and you worked to shelve quickly. A low whistle made you startle and drop the book you were holding.

Looking down you saw Sabo grinning as he came up under you. How did he get in here without making a sound!? “Ohhh, looking good, bend a little for me?”

“Fuck you,” you said with a frown. He picked up the fallen book and held it out to you. You took it with an angry swipe and he leaned against the step ladder, folding his hands under his chin and peering up at you.

“Aw come on doll, don’t be like that. You look stunning! Lemme seeeeee,” he dragged the word and you hmphed with annoyance. Still, his stare didn’t waver and you broke under his hungry look as you bent a little more than necessary to put away the book and he groaned.

“Yessss, so sexy. You should grow out your hair,” he commented idly and you straightened up, cheeks burning.

“Excuse me?!” He held out a hand to help you down the ladder which you ignored. He shrugged.

“I dunno, girls always shave their pubes. I think it would be interesting to see it all-natural, you don’t agree?”

“Not really,” you grit out. Sabo hummed.

“With that outfit, I think it would look nice. I can imagine it now,” he grabbed onto your wrist and started pulling you into the middle of the room as he gestured excitedly with the other. “You wearing that sinful skirt and those stockings. I’m walking down a hallway and you catch my eye. You lift up your skirt, such a tease, I catch a flash of the tops of your stockings and I stop to watch. You lift it even higher, the belts start to show before at last, you flash me the whole package. Curly patch of hair just waiting in between, already dripping wet for me. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

“Sounds like you have quite the imagination,” you said, unimpressed. Even if the description maybe…stirred something in you, you weren’t about to let him know that. Sabo laughed.

“Maybe, but it seems like you would like it. Here we all! Back to where it all started huh?” He had led you to the desk and you shifted uncomfortably. Sabo used your wrist to pull you against him once again. He smiled down at you. “I’m going to take good care of you, get into position?” He shot you a pleading look, fluttering his eyelashes and you sighed.

“Alright.” You knew without being told that he wanted you to lean against the desk as you had before. But he surprised you by dropping to his knees. Gloved hands caressed your thighs as he pulled at the belts that held up your stockings with an appreciative hum. You opened your legs wider. He shot you one quick grin before diving under your skirt. A warm tongue started lapping at your core and you groaned. You dug your fingers into his hair, silky soft under your touch. He wasn’t wearing his hat today. When he started thrusting his tongue into you, you moaned loudly, trying to open your legs even further as a hand began to grab at your ass.

Sabo chuckled before he withdrew. “Careful, you keep moaning like that someone’s bound to come in,” he commented as he straightened. You couldn’t take it anymore and dove at him, lips desperately seeking out his. His mouth opened easily at your attack, tongues dancing together as your taste once again filled your mouth. Both his hands grabbed at your ass as he started walking you back. When you hit the edge, he picked you up and settled you on top of the wood, lips still sealed together. It was amazing, you clung onto his coat jacket tightly, you had been longing to kiss him for ages now. Past the taste of yourself heavy on his tongue, he tasted wonderful, licking into your mouth with sinful skill.

Your hands pulled at his clothing, trying to get him undressed before he pulled back. You whined and he smiled regretfully back at you.

“None of that, we can’t get naked in here right?” You pouted.

“Then why don’t we do this in an actual bed?” Sabo kissed your nose.

“Maybe next time. I’m a little embarrassed getting naked actually,” he confessed, looking just a tad bit shy and you blinked.

“Why? You’re so handsome.”

“Yeah? You think so?” He asked with an amazed look. You didn’t understand why he seemed so surprised and you nodded back. Sabo smiled, looking happy and pleased. “It’s just…the scar goes further down.” He gestured at his face and you shrugged immediately.

“That doesn’t bother me.”

Sabo hummed while licking his lips. “I’ll keep that in mind. For now, let’s get back to this huh?”

“Want me to go down on you?” You asked and he shook his head, running his hands up and down your calves. He ran his hands up the back of your calves until it ended at your thighs and his fingers dug in.

“You look amazing like this. Open my pants for me?” You reached out and made quick work of his buttons, having enough practice with it by now. Finally, his cock sprung free, already hard and glistening. You started to stroke him and he moaned, tightening his fingers at the back of your thighs.

“Don’t do that, I’m so close already,” he warned as he used one hand to push on your stomach lightly. You got the message and laid down. Taking himself in hand, he used the tip to rub against your entrance and you moan arching up against it. “Been wanting this? Craving my dick that badly?” Your pussy twitched at his words and you keen.

“Yes Sabo, so much, been thinking about it constantly.”

“Tell me,” he demanded, still just rubbing against your clit with the head. You groaned.

“Every time we meet up I—ah!” A particular rough thrust has you canting your hips up, trying to chase the feeling. He withdrew and you huffed with understanding. “I’m always hoping that this time, you’d finally shove your way inside of me. Wanna feel the stretch of you—oh!” You cut off when his head finally starts to carve its way inside and you feel your eyes roll up into your head at the feeling. FINALLY. The burn of the stretch feels delicious and you’re already moaning as he leaned over you, watching his dick slowly pierce you. Once he was fully seated, one of his hands wrapped itself under a thigh, and lifted it up until your calf rested on his shoulder, he placed a distracted kiss on your covered leg as he stared at where you two were connected.

“Yeah, I’m not gonna last long at all,” he breathed out in awe. Finally his eyes lifted and caught on yours. “Let’s see about making this good mm?” He grabbed onto your hip and bent you practically in half. Reaching out, he wrapped his other hand around your throat and your eyes widened. Before you could say anything, protest maybe, he slowly withdrew.

“Sabo—” you started and he slammed inside while his fingers tightened ever so slightly around your throat and you wailed. As he began to pound into your heat, his fingers gripped your neck tightly, only allowing you shallow pants. Tears made your vision swim as pain and pleasure shot through you. You had never been choked before and the experience was pushing you ever faster towards your peak. Sabo was being so rough, driving himself in and out so fast, balls slapping against your ass as he moaned and grunted. He kept his eyes on you, drinking you in.

“Feel so good, so tight doll. Want you to come for me, can you do that?” His hand prevented any response or nod. Blinking, tears spilled from your eyes and he groaned at the sight. “Fuck, you’re so pretty like this. Speared on my cock like this, can’t move, can’t breathe,” his fingers tightened and you gasped. “Gonna fill you up, finally. Like you’ve always wanted right? Like you dreamed about, fuck, I’m gonna come. You ready darling? Gonna take it so well, ooohhhh,” he finally closed his eyes as his head dipped forward, hips which had kept up a bruisingly steady pace till this moment, dove in deep and penetrated you so well. The lack of oxygen was making your head spin and that last brutally deep thrust finally put you over the edge you were hanging on for so long, his dirty talk getting you hot and bothered.

Sabo withdrew his hand at last, and you heaved out loud breathes, gulping down air. You felt as he gently removed your leg off his shoulder and let it dangle down off the edge of the desk as you caught your breath. He leaned over you and pressed a few kisses on your face, licking up your tears.

“How was that?”

“Fine,” you wheezed out, voice raspy. Sabo laughed at your attempt at an attitude.

“Oh doll, I’ve got a lot more than just that planned, just you wait."

#sabo x reader #one piece x reader #sabo #one piece #bee writes #bee smut #sabo one piece #bee writing

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inkedtae · 4 years

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fountain of fantasies ⇾ jjk. [M]

⟶ from the eros universe; you do not need to read eros to read this one shot

𝓅𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 ⇾ god!jungkook x curvy!reader (f.)

𝑔𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 ⇾ s2l, greek mythology au, circa. 1800 au, historical au, light fluff, angst, smut, pwp, filth, 18+

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 ⇾ you rather be engaging in heart racing activities than in heart breaking ones

𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉 ⇾ 15.6k

𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 ⇾ dom!jungkook, bigdick!jungkook, buff!jungkook, winged!jungkook, longhair!jungkook, ponytail!jungkook, sub!reader, slightly insecure!reader, shy!reader, mentions and consumption of alcohol, unprotected sex (wrap it to tap it folks), rough sex, playful-ish sex, semi-public sex, fountain sex, dirty talk, creampie, multiple orgasms, slight degradation, overstimulation, exhibition, a lil voyeurism, praise kink, anal, edging, squirting, choking, hair pulling, bodyworshipping, a lil motorboating, a lil begging, water play, a lil spit play, a lil breast play, ass play, a fountain of filth :)

𝒶𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇'𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒 ⇾ i’m too much of a hoe for greek god guk not to turn this into a mini-series...

⤜ banner by ↠ @thebannershop (thank you dearie~)

⤜ beta’d by ↠ @moonmintrails (my soulmate~)

⤜ le playlist ↠

Plump plum juices leak from your violet stained lips. You watch the storm rage through the balcony windows. Flashes of lightning, streaks of raindrops and the wall-rattling thunder only stares back at you. The noise of the world around you would be just the perfect cover for all the sounds he draws out of you. Teeth sinking into the fruit’s flesh, you take another bite and fix your stockings. Topless, you lean back in your plush seat and cross your legs.

You know he’s not coming. It’s been a week since his last visit, a week of staying up late only to fall asleep and wake up to a new toy. You glance at your bed. The collection of gifts under it do not compensate for his absence. You don’t want the ruby dildos or golden anal plugs. You can live without the silver tit-clamps and sapphire pearled whips. It’s him you won’t do without.

But tonight would be a perfect night of fun. You swallow your bite before taking another one as your mind circles every dirty thought you’ve been wanting to entertain for the last seven days. Staring out the rain stained windows, the one that appeals to you the most for tonight would be on that balcony, where it started all those months ago. The thought of being drenched in rainwater while he bends you over the railing makes you squeeze your crossed legs together. And the fluttering flap of his wings as they shake out the storm prickles your skin with goosebumps. Wet hands tangled in your wet hair. Loud moans blended in the loud thunder.

An urgent knock raps on your door. You sit up, letting out a shaky breath from the remnants of that fantasy. As you set your plum down by some grapes on the side table, you shoot to your feet to grab your robe.

“Bunny,” Mary, your sister, whispers from the other side.

The little childhood nickname brings a smile to your face. The two of you would play Wonderland in the garden as children and Mary would have you, Bunny, guide her down the right path. Now, she only ever calls you that when she’s nervous and struggling to admit it.

Tying the robe around your waist, you eagerly let her in. “What is it, Mary?” You smile as she rushes past you.

She doesn’t take a moment to properly greet you, darting to your little library instead. “Do you have that book about Mount Olympus?” She asks. Her freshly painted nails scrape over the spines of each book as you part your lips to reply. “Oh! Here it is!”

Returning to your seat, you watch your older sister skim through the pages. “Why the sudden interest in Greek gods?”

“Michael mentioned something about Hera and I just wanted to- I knew it!”

Chewing on another bite, you raise a brow at her. “I’m sure he’d be pleased to hear that tomorrow,” you chuckle around your food.

Mary pauses. Her eyes, previously gleaming with excitement, diminish into indifference. She clears her throat and shuts the book. “Mama says to never correct a man.”

You stuff your mouth with a big bite and avoid your sister’s gaze. There’s lots you have to say about your mother’s philosophy on love, but you know better than to voice those opinions.

Mary continues talking, despite knowing your reservations about your mother. She holds the book to her chest and tentatively sits on your bed. “Mama wants me to talk to you about something.”

Slowly chewing, you glance at her. You already know where this is going. It’s another desperate attempt on your mother’s part to make sure you don’t wear the dress he had gifted you. She knows full well how much it reveals and how well it’s designed. You don’t care for your mother’s opinion though; you haven’t for months. It’s Mary’s opinion on the subject that matters to you.

“But, I told her that I don’t want to lie to you.” She takes a moment to sigh then meets your gaze once more. “You’ll look gorgeous in that dress, Bunny,” she smiles. “And I have the perfect shoes for them too.”

A laugh bubbles out of your throat and you almost choke on your food. Mary laughs at your struggling state. “Oh, can we get ready for your party together?” You ask, perking up in your seat once you properly swallow your food.

Mary’s excited gaze wavers. She glances back at the book before hesitantly nodding. “Yes.”

“What is it?”

“Nothing…”

You give her a pointed look. Flopping down on the bed, Mary groans and stares up at the ceiling. “What do you think of Michael?” You part your lips to reply, but she continues, “I mean I know he’s from a good family, and can take care of me, and he’s so handsome.”

You bite your lip at the last comment. Michael is not exactly your type of heartthrob. But, then again, your senses have been obscured by a god, so now not a single person can look as handsome, as beautiful, as heavenly as your Eros.

“But, he says and does things I’m not exactly…” She trails off. “And I think his previous courtship with Linette ended horribly.”

Her half-sentence rings some warning in your gut. However, by the way she avoids eye contact to stare at your crystal chandelier, you decide not to address it. “What makes you think so?” you ask instead.

“Well, that’s what he told me.”

Resisting the urge to scoff, you simply quirk a brow. Mary may be a couple of years older, but she still hasn’t grown out of her naive tendencies. You’re about to tell her that everything will be okay when you catch a familiar silhouette on your balcony.

He’s here.

Mary shoots up off your bed. You fear for a second that she may have seen him, but then she asks, “So? What do you think?”

Gulping, you take a moment to collect your thoughts. Erasing the fact that he’s finally here from your mind, you try to remain focused on your sister. You want the best for her. You want her to be excited about who she marries and for the life she will spend with that person. And that’s why it takes you a world of restraint not to tell her that if she isn’t a hundred percent sure about marrying Michael, then maybe she shouldn’t.

“Do you love him, Mary?” You ask. “And I don’t mean that ‘nobility’ love. I mean that, ‘makes you cry just thinking about losing him’ love.”

Mary hesitates.Your eyes flicker to the balcony where he continues to stand. Inhaling deeply, you silently ask him to wait just a second longer.

“I think I do,” she smiles.

Your heart shatters at her phrasing. I think. Where is the room for thinking when true love is at your door? You want to tell her that there shouldn’t be any of this ‘thinking’ nonsense. You either do or you don’t, you want to say. But her smile is so pure and eyes light up just enough that you don’t have the heart to take it all away. Besides, maybe she really does love him.

“Then, I think he’s perfect for you.”

Mary grabs the book and jumps to her feet. “Let’s meet in my room at seven,” she smiles, ruffling through your hair on her way to the door. “Have a good night, Bunny.”

“You too,” you smile as she shuts the door with a wink. The gesture is unusual but you suppose she’s just excited about the party tomorrow. You’re not exactly sure why she did it and with a winged god at your door, you can’t find it in you to care for too long.

Darting to the balcony, you pull open the doors to be greeted by empty winds and heavy raindrops. Those wings are gone, balcony vacant of anything but despair. Not even a gift replaces his presence. You hold your tears back and swallow the growing lump in your throat. Your time is not one of his toys, nor is it free. You’ve run out of patience. You’re empty of reason, thriving on broken feelings.

Shakily sighing, you bury the hurt in your voice and whisper, “if you can’t stay, don’t come at all.”

Sparkling diamonds, glasses, and wine circle the ballroom. Sipping on your drink, you take in the gleaming marble floors and the arches of the grand windows. The Barbury Estate is twice the size of yours. You want to believe that your mother’s delight in Mary’s proposal has more to do with her happiness than the fact that her fiancé is riddled with more wealth than he knows what to do with. But, you know that your mother has a special bond with money. It’s the same relationship she has with social standards. Her philosophy is simple; the more, the better. Now, if only your mother felt that way about you.

No, wait. This night is not about you. An evening lost in a grand room of people only appeals to you when the occasion for such torture is your sister’s engagement party. Your chest swells with pride as you watch Mary dance with her fiancé. Michael Barbury is not exactly what you would call ‘prince charming.’ His jokes border on racism and thoughts are somewhat insipid, but he makes Mary happy. That’s all that matters to you. Her relapse in judgement last night does worry you. But you know that she’ll be happy with Michael. With Eros gone, you wonder how soon you’ll find a love like that too.

Mary’s graceful giggles cut you out of your trance. You blink once, twice until your senses fully return to you. Even the smallest thought of him throws you out of your consciousness. Settling your eyes back on your sister, watching as she basks in Michael’s unwavering attention and dotting devotion, you’re greeted with a sense of comfort. The guilt of not speaking your truth disappears and the fear of never finding love dissipates to the back of your mind.

“Miss (Y/N)?” Lee Kyon asks, waving his hand in front of you.

Right, you forgot he was there. Turning to face him once more, you flash Kyon a somewhat kind smile. “Yes, Mr. Lee?”

He furrows his brows. “Is everything alright?”

Perhaps everything would be alright if your mother didn’t constantly feel the need to set you up with the first poor man that accidently looks your way. Yes, you’re well aware of your mother’s behaviour and the fact that Kyon has no real interest in getting to know you. Judging by the way he continues to loop back to the same dull topic about the history of wine, you can tell that he is merely trying to keep the conversation short enough to be polite, but not long enough to be courting you.

It’s not as though you care for his company either. Kyon has half of Michael’s intelligence. Even though you were only half-listening to his rant, you already pick out the few historical inaccuracies in his unprompted explanation. Of course, the worst thing you can do to a man is attack his wits and pride; that’s what your mother tells you anyway. It’s what worried Mary last night too. And you’ve tested that theory enough to know how true it is and how fun it can be. Watching them grapple for the right words, flare their nostrils in frustration and demand you apologize will always be just as humorous as when they try to “teach” you about language or art or, in Kyon’s case, history.

Biting back a sigh, you nod and silently pray for a way out of this boring conversation and into something a bit more exciting.

Clearing his throat, Kyon searches for a way to fill the silence. He then half-heartedly mutters, “You look darling this evening.”

Glancing down at your dress, your face heats up. The tiger lily-peach layers of satin and tulle fall down to your ankles. The pleated skirt mirrors the petals of a flower. Cleavage on display, the long flowy sleeves fall off your shoulders. Finished with a green ribbon around your waist and gleaming pink jewels, this is possibly the best dress he has gifted you.

Your Eros left it, no wait- he’s not yours anymore. A friend left it hanging in your closet one morning after another passionate night in his embrace. It was a beautiful surprise to be woken up to and a manageable struggle to explain how it came into your possession. You can’t help but find it a bit ironic how your mother is desperate to set you up with the first man she sees, but hesitant to dress you up for the occasion. He must have known, must have felt your frustration towards your mistreatment.

It takes everything in you to fight off the smile playing on your lips. You glance back up at Kyon, parting your lips to thank him when he continues, “And how brave of you to wear such a dress.”

You pause. “Brave?”

Kyon smiles and nods.

Is he really telling you what you think he is? Is he really undermining your confidence, undermining the beauty you know you have by commending your ‘bravery?’ No, you mustn’t judge too quickly. Perhaps he’s admiring your choice to go against expectations of covering up with a shawl.

You swallow back your initial assumptions, and decide to give him the benefit of the doubt. “I’m not sure I know what you mean, Mr. Lee?”

“Well,” Kyon starts. He looks off to the side and raises both his brows before looking to you once more. His hazel eyes scan your figure, jaw clenching as he clears his throat. “A dress like this is traditionally worn by a woman that looks more like…” he trails off, eyes wandering as well. “Like Miss (L/N).”

A stinging chorus of hushed laughter strikes your pride. Your gut boils with shame and humiliation as your eyes bounce between the partygoers near you. You hadn’t realized they were eavesdropping. As a desperate attempt to ignore their maliciously amused looks, you follow Kyon’s gaze to Mary. Chewing on your lip, you ignore the urge to roll your eyes. This isn’t the first time someone has compared you to her, and you know very well that it won’t be the last. Even the utter disrespect of referring to you by your first name and your sister by your last name further displays their lack of recognition for you. In their eyes, you will forever remain as Miss (Y/N), the spinster-destined sister of Miss (L/N). And though you are certain that the twinge of pain and anger festering in your chest is for Kyon, you can’t help but be a little annoyed with your sister as well.

But then she laughs, smiling so bright and wide. She looks up at Michael and rests her chin on his bicep, reveling in his attention and embrace. You realize, in her moment of happiness, that you can’t find it in you to hold this grudge against her. Your love for her is greater than your pride. Besides, she plays no part in your insecurities. And, you decide as you turn back to Kyon, neither will this privileged upperclassman.

“How brave,” you sigh with a single shouldered shrug.

“What is, Miss (Y/N)?”

“How brave of you to believe anyone cares for your opinion.”

Kyon chokes on his drink. The partygoers, previously humoured by your embarrassment, relish in your courage to upstage Kyon. Gasping a giggle, you step back to avoid being spit on. He glares at you as he wipes his chin. You don’t hesitate to return that hard, hateful look in his eye. Raising a challenging brow, you dare him to attempt to embarrass you again.

He takes one step towards you, looking as though he’s about to grab at your arm when his stride is redirected. Kyon walks away without another word. You stare after him in confusion as he mutters an apology under his breath.

You’re not sure what caused this sudden change in his angry course, but you’re all too happy to be rid of him to dwell on the thought of his motives much longer. He must’ve known how offensive his words were. True, most people compare you to your sister, but at least they have the decency to do it behind your back. You rather be physically absent from a conversation like that. It makes it easier to ignore and avoid the negativity.

Confidence restored, you feel comfortable in your skin again. The dress is a perfect fit, the struggle to breath nowhere to be found, and sits well on your frame- despite what others think. However, you have very little time to revel in your victory as your mother stalks towards you.

“What have you done?” she hisses over your shoulder. Before you even have a chance to look back at her, she drags you by your arm to the edge of the room. “What did you say this time?”

A heavy sigh pushes past your lips as you clasp your hands before you and reply, “He insulted me.”

Your mother quirks a brow. “And?” She questions as if waiting for a more substantial argument.

“And?” You echo in confusion. “And he insulted me. I don’t see why that’s not enough of a reason to insult him back.”

She shakes her head and inhales deeply. You brace yourself for the disparaging rant you know is coming. Nothing good ever comes from a head shake and heavy sigh. But, instead of her usual ‘stay in your place’ harangue, your mother cuts to the chase this time. “Do you realize that might just be your only chance for happiness?”

Suppressing a dry chuckle, you lower your gaze to the floor. You know your mother is well aware of how her question sounds; you know she doesn’t care. Still, you ask, “Is that really what happiness looks like, mother?”

She falls silent. After a beat, you dare to peek up at her. Those once hard eyes soften as her gaze locks on Mary and Michael, locks on how they gaze upon one another with such adoration. Blinking repeatedly, she turns to you and sighs, “Yes, to some people that,” she pauses to glance at Kyon, “is what happiness looks like.”

A wicked pang of sad, lonely anger twists in your chest then tumbles to the pit of your stomach. Your gaze falls to the ground and heart shatters with that last shred of hope that your mother perhaps did want the best for you. Up until now, you truly believed that in some twisted way, she was just looking out for you, making sure you have someone by your side long after she’s gone. Her words now and that shameless look that matches that shameless confession only point to the painfully obvious fact you have tried so hard to ignore. Your mother’s need to make you look a certain way and throw you at any breathing man has never been for your well-being, but rather the well-being of her reputation.

“Go to Mr. Lee, (Y/N),” she orders. “Offer to freshen his drink, wipe down his shirt, and then apologize. Beg for his forgiveness if you have to; just make this right.”

With a deep breath, you trail your eyes back up and try to collect yourself. Your eyes flicker between the exit and where Kyon stands.Your mother clears her throat, drawing your attention back on her.

“Have I made myself clear?”

“Crystal.”

She returns to her friends, that gleeful smile plastered on her face once more. Your eyes fall back on Kyon with every intention of following through your mother’s orders. However, he only greets your gaze with malice. A wave of nausea overwhelms you.

With a shake of your head, you tear yourself away from his threatening demeanour and turn towards the exit. You just need to get out of his line of sight, out of that pretentious atmosphere. Something within you can’t seem to stop telling you that one more moment near that passive-aggressive punk will only make you feel worse. So, you lengthen your strides out of the ballroom and down the hall to put as much distance between you and them.

The pressure of their expectations suffocates you like no corset ever has. All you can think is how desperately you need some fresh air. It takes you a moment, but you navigate your way around the manor well enough to find the back entrance.

Cold air engulfs you the moment you step outside. A relieved giggle slips past your lips and you throw your head back to relish in the cool spring breeze. The sky reflects a swirl of silvery indigo. It lures you into its constellations and wonders with every other glance. Lowering your gaze, you scan the garden before you. A cobblestone path leads all the way down to a hedged maze. You can never resist a good garden. In fact, you had helped design the one back home. You hope that when your husband-to-be comes along, he’d have a garden too and maybe you can design it together.

Realizing you can maybe hold on to a few more moments of peace if they can’t find you, you decide to follow the path and hide away within the walls of the maze. You’re halfway down the cobblestone trail when you sense a strong pull dragging your soul closer to the hedges. Picking up your pace, you follow that tug faster, soon weaving through the maze like you’ve been through it before. It’s not long before you reach the centre.

It’s a large clearing, decorated with a variety of blooming flowers. In the middle stands a grand marble fountain. Three tiered, the fountain sprouts fresh water through the mouths of singing angels. A little smile plays on your lips as you click-clack your way towards it. The tranquil rush of the stream calms your previously erratic heart. You take a seat on the edge and stare down at the pool. It’s empty of floating flowers or little fish like the one you have at home, but still beautiful all the same.

“Miss (L/N).”

Your eyes well up the moment his sweet voice greets your ears. A shaky breath escapes you and you turn to find him. Did he not hear your words last night? Does he not care? Or is he here to stay this time?

Sitting atop the hedges of the garden maze and out of the moon’s light, he looks just as heavenly as always. Most details of his beauty are hidden, but you can make out his long hair and the way it’s pulled back into a ponytail, leaving loose, short strands to frame his face. And those soft wings are out, spread wide behind him as he stares back at you. Shirtless, he smirks.

You can’t help the smile stretching upon your lips at the sight of him. It’s an uncontrollable reflex, as is the wetness of your core when he’s around. He usually doesn’t arrive this early when he does show up. How long has he been there?

Clearing your throat, however, you subside the urge to smile upon his presence. “Mr. Jeon.” His name leaves your lips in a trembling breath as your heart’s aflush with desire. You have to remind yourself that you’re upset with his disappearances.

A sweet smile takes over his features. “I’ve upset you,” he notes.

Is this a joke to him? How many nights does he expect you to wait around for a maybe? You both know your time is worth more than that. And though you want to tell him that he’s done more than upset you, that he’s disappointed you, you confess something else instead. “I’ve missed you.”

“You know I miss you too,” he replies.

You resist the urge to scoff. “Are you working tonight?”

He shakes his head. “I just got off actually.”

Without me? You mentally scold yourself for your dirty thought. You can’t even hold onto your anger for more than thirty seconds without having the urge to spread your legs for him. “Lucky me,” you sarcastically reply.

“Do you like the dress?”

“I’d like it more with the gift from last night,” you glare at him. “If there was a gift from last night, that is.”

Hopping off the edge, his wings fan out to guide him down before you with ease. Your face falls as he stands in the moonlight. Thick mud coats his muscular body and those once white wings are stained with dirt and grim. His sharp face is scratched with little scabs as well. He looks like he fell from the sky.

“Jungkook,” you whisper as you reach out to caress his wounded cheek.

But Jungkook can’t be any less interested in his current state. His attention does not waver off you. Those kind eyes of his scan your frame, lingering around your breasts. “It looks even better than I imagined.”

You feel as though you have to ask him if this really is a joke to him this time. He leaves you for a week with very little behind and returns only to be caked in mud and peppered with wounds and has the audacity to pretend it’s not an issue. Now, you’re upset.

You blink back your tears, quietly asking, “What happened?”

Maybe it was the hurt in your tone or the worry flashing in your eyes but his usually cocky demeanor trembles just enough to comfort you. “It’s just been a long night, baby. I missed a couple of shots and it took a little more effort than usual to fix everything.”

Fidgeting fingers trail up the exposed side of his thick thigh under the stained toga-like skirt he wears. He shudders under your touch as your hands make their way up to his buff chest where they stay. You inhale deeply to settle your erratic heart. The earthy grim of the mud invades your senses. He doesn’t even smell like himself anymore.

Knitting your brows together, you ask, “Are you hurt?”

Jungkook’s entire expression softens. Shaking his head, he goes to cradle your body closer to his but stops before his hands reach your waist. You can feel his desire though, to touch and be touched. It’s raw and real, and purely Jungkook. This shared desire the two of you have roots deep within your souls. It breaks your heart to think that he’s not yours anymore, and maybe you made that decision rashly, in a moment of anger. But, you both know it’s not how you feel right now.

“I need to know your schedule,” you say in a quiet voice. He tongues his cheek, erupting your heart with a surge of want. You ignore the feeling long enough to continue, “I can’t just sit and wait, Jungkook.”

He stares down at you, eyes unreadable. You can tell that he’s mulling over your words, but have no clue how he feels about them. Finally, he cups your cheeks, staining them with dirt, and says “I need you to trust me when I say that I’m doing my best to get to you as quickly as I can, darling.”

Your heart cannot deny him when his gaze reflects such sincerity and honesty. Every ounce of trust, of belief is in him and only him. And maybe you are being selfish, but to be stranded without an explanation is heartbreaking. You know he knows that, or at least feels it in you when you think of him and pray.

“Just tell me I’m yours again,” he whispers, “and I’ll prove to you how much I’ve missed you too.”

Is that why he’s here? He’s afraid of losing you? Biting your lip, you can’t help but lean into his touch. It was mean of you to punish him like this and make him think that you were really upset with him when in actuality, all you wanted was a little more attention. You give him an innocent look through your lashes. He does his best not to swoon, but you know him well enough now to know that the little quiver in his lips means he’s on the verge of getting on his knees.

“No man of mine is this dirty,” you smirk, echoing the words of your first encounter.

Jungkook smiles and this time you have to keep yourself from swooning at the sight of his dimples. “I thought that’s exactly how you like them,” he purrs as he walks you back towards the fountain.

Heat rushes to your face. The marble edge of the fountain hits the bend of your knees but you refuse to sit down with Jungkook only inches away. His hands may still be on your face, rubbing that dirt into your cheeks, but his body is still too far away from yours. You move to take a step forward, desperate to have your body against his. However, Jungkook is quicker, most likely having read your mind, and moves back before you can even get half a step in.

Your eyes harden at the action. Pushing his hands off your face, you quirk a brow.

“I don’t want to ruin your dress.”

“A dress like this is meant to be ruined.”

He smirks. You can tell by the amusement dancing in his eyes that he’s enjoying the sight of you this needy and possessive. He decides to further test the limits of your composure, asking, “Don’t you have a party to get back to?”

He’s teasing. The mockery riddled in his features is enough of a hint, but the playful tone in his voice is still something you bask in. Taking a seat on the edge of the fountain, you let out a deep sigh and look up to the clouds. “A flight back home might do us both some good,” you suggest instead. “It’s not like there’s anything waiting for me at the party anyways.”

“Not even your sister?”

You shake your head.

“Mother?”

Face folding, you suppress the urge to groan and whisper, “Oh, gods no.”

Jungkook chuckles as he circles around the fountain. He dips his hand in the clear water, before asking, “What about Lee Kyon?”

Now, what would Jeon Jungkook know of Lee Kyon? A quick scan of his features doesn’t let you in on much besides the fact that he’s trying to draw a reaction out of you. However, what reaction is he hoping for? Is he looking for an explanation? He knows all about your mother’s habits and your relationships, or lack thereof, with mortal men. You never even have to say it; Jungkook knows there’s no one else for you but him.

“Mr. Lee is fragile,” you sigh.

His wings twitch. He likes what he hears. You curl in your lips to keep from smiling. Could he, Eros the god of love, lust and desire, really be jealous of an imbecile? Setting your visual tastes aside for a moment, you and Jungkook both know that Kyon, bless him, knows less than the very fountain you’re sitting on… The very fountain Jungkook is climbing into.

“What are you doing?” You ask, shooting to your feet as Jungkook makes himself comfortable. A giggle tumbles out of you, even though you tried to bite it back, at the sight of him washing himself like a bird.

Jungkook stops for a moment, that playful gaze meeting yours. This one look is enough for you to know he’s heard, and he’s most likely still hearing your thoughts. You wish you could dip in and out of his mind too. It might put an end to all the guessing on your end.

Continuing to splash his torso clean, he replies, “You’re sending me some mixed messages, baby. I thought you didn’t like me dirty.”

He has a point. Making your way over to him, you sit by his submerged frame on the edge of the fountain. Jungkook rubs his lips as he watches your jeweled fingers trace the curves of your cleavage. Your hand stops in the centre, just above the tied strings of your corset. You begin unlacing it when Jungkook tsks. Snapping your gaze to his, you wait for further instructions.

“What are you doing?”

“I want to get in with you.”

“So, get in.”

You move to unlace your corset once more, but Jungkook grabs onto your wrist. Catching his darkening gaze, you furrow your brows at his tilting head. He’s gesturing for you to get in, but won’t let you take off your dress. He can’t serious think you’d get in wearing it the water is filthy with his-

Glancing at the clear water, your thoughts are overtaken by confusion. You expected it to be tinted a dark brown from all the mud but it only reflects the marble bowl of the fountain, Jungkook’s legs, and that growing erection between them. You probably should question him on when he took that skirt off and why the water is so clean even after he went into it with layers of dirt coating his skin, but the heat between your legs is slowly growing more and more insufferable.

Your eyes flicker back to Jungkook’s to find him already staring at you, a smirk painted on his handsome face. He pushes his tongue against his cheek once more, knowing how much you love that move, then quirks a cocky brow. Kicking off your heels, you lift your dress enough to dip each stocking covered foot into the fountain. You hiss at the sensation of the soggy socks against your feet, but power through knowing how much Jungkook loves the way they look on you.

Your dress puffs up to the surface and you have to push it down and back to put as little space between you and Jungkook. “Your hair’s filthy,” you pout as you finally straddle his lap.

Jungkook lets out a little sigh. You first think it’s because his cock stands right in front of your pussy, but soon realize how wrong you are. His dazed gaze wanders over your features, unsure where to stop and what to admire first. Those large hands instinctively find your thick thighs. He rubs and massages them as you untie his hair and wet your hands enough to wash some of the dirt away. You tilt his head back and lick your lips. It’s a habit you have when concentrating. Jungkook knows it well.

“You’re absolutely beautiful,” he suddenly purrs. His voice is thick, saturated with lust and adoration. “Honestly, you don’t have to do anything, darling, just let me look at you for a little bit.”

You freeze, hands half tangled in his mud slick hair, and gaze back down at him. Dipping your head down, your lips catch his. You’re obsessed with the lack of hesitation between the two of you. Never has Jungkook thought twice about taking you as his when the two of you are this close. No matter how long he’s gone or how upset you may feel about that, when you find each other again, it’s almost like he never left. Your souls rapture in harmony and bodies tangle indefinitely. Eternity lies in the palms of your hands every second you're together.

“I’ve got to clean your hair,” you mutter against his lips. He only hums before kissing you again. Inhaling sharply, you let him have another sip of your breath before pulling away completely. And you realize, as you glance at his wings, that they could probably use a good scrub down too before the two of you indulge in the good fun you’ve been dying to have all week.

Before you can vocalize this, however, Jungkook is already readjusting your shared position. He tucks his wings tight behind him and shifts the two of you around so that the stream of the fountain washes down his back. “Hurry,” he orders. There’s very little room for negotiation in his tone. His appetite for a fun night is growing too and you can’t help but smile at the eagerness you’ve triggered.

Sticking your tongue out, you hook it under his chin and tilt his head back. Jungkook continues to gaze down at you as he gives into your gesture. “That’s hot,” he mutters.

This is new. He never talks this much when things start to heat up. Most of the time, you’re tossed looks and expected to decipher his mood, but you’re all too caught up in how gorgeous he is, you can barely understand what he means. Everything is always based on feelings and going with your instincts. But this time, Jungkook’s more vocal. It’s almost as if he’s thinking out loud.

His wings twitch again. You snap your gaze from his hair to his eyes and find he’s raising a brow. Didn’t you wish you could hear his thoughts too? Could this be his way of granting it to you?

“You know what I like most about you?” He asks as you continue to wash the mud from his hair. Grazing your nails through his scalp, you hum in reply. “You’re incredibly intelligent.”

Your fingers shudder against his head. The guilt of last night returns. Your sister should be with someone who isn’t afraid of her intelligence either. You should’ve told her not to follow through with this, not to marry Michael.

Jungkook’s hands trail up to your ass, gripping onto the plump flesh. The harsh gesture snaps you back into the moment. You jump a bit and let out a little squeal as your gaze meets his. “I much rather you don’t think of other men when you’re with me,” he groans.

Fighting off the proud smile tempting your lips, you nod. “Sorry; it won’t happen again.”

“Better not,” he mutters and that smile finally settles on your lips. “And don’t worry about your sister. She’ll be fine.”

A part of you wants to question him more about how he knows that, but the death grip he has on your ass and the way he’s looking at you does not leave much room for a sexless conversation. You rather your family stay out of conversations like this with Jungkook. His desire to be the only one in your thoughts makes a bit more sense to you now.

Smiling, Jungkook inhales deeply through his nose. “You figure things out faster than most people,” he says.

You kiss the little freckle under his lip to let him know you’re done cleaning his hair. “You spend too much time in my head,” you tease. Instead of in my… The rest of the sentence twirls in your mind for him to find it.

As you move to clean his right wing he chuckles and continues, “I’m serious, baby.” He kisses your neck as you stand on your knees and reach for his wing to properly clean it off. “Your mind amazes me. That’s why I spend so much time there.”

Barriers of the mind fall. They were trembling before but now, with every whispered thought Jungkook voices, you can feel those walls of distance crumble around your inseparable bodies. You’ve always melded perfectly physically and stroked the other’s spirit by caressing your souls, but mental barriers have always halted any real conversation between you and Jungkook. He’s always been able to know your next move, your every thought because of his immortality. And to have the chance to do the same only makes you feel that much closer to him. For this reason, you hope he doesn’t regret opening up to you and giving you a little peek inside his mind.

Your physical senses shock you back to the moment. His fingers soften their grip on your ass, rubbing it instead and your pussy reactively clenches at that pet name you love so much. Unsteadily inhaling deeply, you move to clean his other wing in silence. You decide you won’t talk this time. Your mind is open to him if he’s looking for your opinion, but tonight you just want to hear his thoughts and be the one tossing unreadable looks.

Jungkook chuckles against your neck, rolling his shoulders back as you brush your fingers through his wings. His lips trail down to your collarbone. He kisses his way down to your breasts and buries his face between them. Breathing in your scent, he sighs happily and mutters, “This is my favourite thing.”

Your breasts? By the way his hands always settle on your ass and the fact that his first hand-delivered toy was an anal plug, you always just assumed that his favourite feature of yours must be your ass. But you suppose if your breasts-

“Actually, I was talking about the way you smell.”

“It’s called soap,” you tease, earning yourself a light spank. He then bites on your right tit, sucking on the skin just because he can. You giggle and settle yourself back on his lap. Your ass, plush and plump, all but melts over his muscular thighs.

Jungkook stares at you. His brown eyes are vacant and lost in thought. He quiets under your gaze, only just shifting to pull you closer than you already are. Your pussy frames the length of his cock and you find it increasingly hard to stay still. Trying to read that dazed expression on his face, you wonder what happened with his devotion to thinking out loud.

Licking his lips, Jungkook finally breaks the silence. “Twenty-three.” He leans towards you turning the two of you back around so his back is against the fountain’s edge again. “I want you in twenty-three different ways, but I don’t think we have time to do all of them.”

You swallow thickly. Grinding your hips into his, you rub your needy pussy against his throbbing erection. Jungkook’s eyes slightly roll back and he has to hold your hips down only to look at you properly again. “Can we make time?” You ask. The desperate cry for more is evident in your voice and you know that, by the quirk of his brow and the shudder of his wings, he’s having trouble saying no.

“I wish,” he confesses. “My favourite ones take time.”

His fingers dig into your ass again, hinting at what his favourite positions might be. It’s no surprise that it has to do with your ass, you’re just worried that he’s going to ask for more than you’re ready for. Yes, you may have gotten used to anal plugs over time since he knows how to prep you for them, but his cock is an entirely different game. You are constantly reminded of how those other toys really are just toys because his cock is that uncomparable.

Jungkook relaxes back against the marble wall and watches you as you salivate over the size of his cock. He doesn’t need to read your mind to know you're terrified of whatever pain may come with it but excited because you’re just that much of a whore for him.

“You know you don’t have to do it. I have lots of other favourites,” he smirks.

As your thoughts trail off, he bucks his hips into yours. You breathe moan and clutch onto his shoulders. Every little movement makes you ache for more. A week without a single bit of sexual stimulation, even by yourself, is too long. He never told you that you couldn’t play around alone anymore, but when you have him, why the hell would you play with yourself? You know he’s going to come every night, or at least you hope he is. And the truth is, one he must already know judging by the pleased look in his eyes, even if he had told you he wasn’t coming, you still wouldn’t have touched yourself. Nothing can compare to his touch; you don’t need to try anything else to know this.

A shaky breath escapes Jungkook at your next mental confession. You don't think you were ever really mad at him. You just knew that acting out would get him to come tonight. Jungkook scoffs, looking up at the darkening sky as you wrap your arms around his neck.

Are you even really sorry? His eyes dart to yours as if wanting to see for himself if your thoughts are true. You don't know if you can answer this question with his eyes on you like that. But, that conclusion seems to be enough of an answer for him.

He shakes his head and wraps his arms around your waist. Pouting, he asks, “Do you know how worried I was?”

You mirror his expression, drawing a pout in your features as well, and press your chest against his. His breath hitches and body melts into yours, betraying his intentions. Noticing his struggle to stay upset with you, you pepper wet kisses under his chin and along his jawline.

Jungkook can’t resist you for much longer. He whimpers as his hips grind into yours. Bending at your every touch, he unravels beneath you. A giddy smile breaks your pouty features and it’s only then that he seems to realize how much he’s let himself go in front of you. His grip on your hips hardens. As you kiss up his face, you find his lust-stuck eyes dark with dominance. He hates being vulnerable to your touch this much.

“No, baby,” he rasps. You quirk a brow. “I hate how drunk you get off the power.”

A proud smirk twitches on the corner of your lips, confirming his words. You’ve barely had taste for the power he’s accusing you of getting drunk off of. However, the fact that you’re able to control him so well with such a small dose fills your heart with pride.

“You’re getting ahead of yourself.”

“I am?”

There’s a certain cocky pitch in your tone that rings sharply to his ears. His brows twitch, wings flutter, and gaze wavers. He may have been able to look past your exaggerations of dismissal and the way you tease him, but to speak to him with very little regard for his power unleashes something primal within him. You can always tell you’ve really pissed him off when he pouts, clenches his jaw, and breathes so steadily, you can barely hear him.

Jungkook watches you carefully. “One week without my dick and suddenly you think you own it?”

“Don’t I?”

A sharp smack lands on your ass. The slow draft of the water does not slow his hands down. In fact, it only increases the sting and accuracy. You gasp and fall forward against him only to be spanked again. Another moan leaves you, this time with your lips hovering over his. Exchanging breathes, a dangerous thought occurs to you. Your lips are over his. What’s to stop you from spit-

He growls. You tremble against him. The purely thunderous rumble in his chest rattles your soul. “I fucking dare you,” he hisses.

Though you want to heed his warning, you can’t help but notice how he keeps his mouth open despite his disapproval. You gather what you have in your mouth and pause for a moment, knowing that he knows what you’re about to do. His mouth remains open. You drop the wad of spit it without a second thought.

Jungkook swallows it almost immediately. “You’re going to regret that,” he breathes.

“I highly doubt that,” you smirk.

The cocky persona you seemed to have picked up from him crumbles when his middle finger pushes between your cheeks and circles your tightest hole. His words about his favourite ways to fuck you return to you in distant echoes. You arch your back and push your ass into his hand. His finger threatens to slip in.

“You’re barely ready,” he scoffs.

Do you harbour reservations based on fears that he just might be too big to fit in your ass? Of course you do; he’s huge. A fact of which he can’t help but always smirk at when you point it out. But, you’re hungry for him and you know that he would never do anything to hurt you. Letting out a shaky breath, you affirm, “I can take it.”

“You aren’t wet enough.”

“Then, change that.”

The continuous authority that drips in your tone has tested his patience for the last time. Reaching a hand out of the fountain, Jungkook grabs for something on the ground. You try to lean over him and sneak a peek at what he’s looking for, but the friction of your clit against his length has you shuddering back in place.

A little smile breaks Jungkook’s previously callous expression. He pecks your neck and laughs quietly against your skin as he mutters, “You’re adorable.”

Heat rushes down to your core instead of your face at the little praise. You lean down to press a gentle kiss to his lips when you catch a glimpse of something gold in your peripherals. Glancing up, you find him clutching onto his bow. Before you have the chance to ask what he’s planning, Jungkook only just drops the tip of his bow in to break the surface of the water. A misty rose gold tints the clarity. Little flicks of sparkling gold twinkle back at you as you watch the fountain filter the essence all around you.

You cautiously meet gaze. He always confirms new things with you before acting on anything, no matter how mad or horny he is. His rash decision to spike the fountain with an unknown substance chills your blood for a second. You start to shift back from him a bit when he breaks the silence.

“It’s just a lubricant,” he quickly explains. A relieved breath, you didn’t realize you were holding, leaves you. Shifting back against him, you nudge your nose against his. “Sex is a bit different underwater, baby, and I don’t have time to get you as ready as you need to be.”

A gentle nibble on his lip is all it takes for the rush of the fountain to be the only sound in the silence that settles upon you. His hands guide your hips against his, the fiction much smoother now with that hint of lubrication swirling around. You run a hand through his hand and tug his head back to be greeted with the sweet rumble of his laughter. You can’t help but giggle with him as you place soft kisses along the side of his neck.

Jungkook quietly moans in little whines and breathless gasps. Every shudder of his wings and furrow of his brows makes you want to rip your dress off and be just as naked and against him. But, then again, there’s something powerful to the taste of being fully clothed and still destroying a man’s composure. You barely have to do anything and Jungkook bends to your every will. You can now understand why he believes you’re so drunk on power, but the truth is you always had this power. He knows this, most likely wanting you to realize it too if he’s the one that suggested you stay clothed. The only difference now is that he’s openly displaying the ways you unravel him rather than keeping it to himself.

“Do you see what I mean now?” He asks in a breathless whisper. You trail your kiss up to his cheek and moan against it as he continues, “You’re so smart and beautiful and precious.”

Jungkook pauses, stilling your hips and pulling his face away from yours to look into your eyes. He parts his lips to speak but his words keep falling short somehow.

His words so far have already ignited an untamable fire not only between your legs, but within your bones as well. He is drenched in every part of you. Shifting to a softer touch, you untangle your fingers from his damp hair and cup his cheeks the same way he had done to you not too long ago. “Go on,” you tease, tossing him a playful look.

He doesn’t smile, doesn’t even smirk. His eyes, though hinted with amusement, continue to be lost in some sort of trance. He knows you’re curious, but keeps this little bit of thought to himself. Lifting your hips, he hovers your entrance over his erection and finally smirks.

“Beg a little,” he orders. Though his voice barely carries to the other side of the fountain, the authority in his tone is still as clear and hard as it always is.

Your power trip must have really messed with him if he’s having you beg without giving you a good reason to. An annoyed sigh fans against your collarbone as your body continues to hover over his. “Don’t play,” he rasps, “You know that’s not it. I can hear the truth before the lie, darling.”

That’s an unfair advantage but one you don’t mind too much if it means he talks to you like this all the time. He’s right too. You know that’s not what’s got him eager to hear you beg. It’s the way you beg that’s got him eager to fuck you. Clenching around emptiness, needy to be filled and ruined, you whine a tiny “please,” then a string of profanities as his tip strokes its way to your entrance from your clit.

“Again.”

Back arched, breasts against his bare chest, and hands clutched onto his biceps, you place your lips on the shell of his ear and blow a gentle breeze against it. “Please,” you mewl.

Jungkook’s hands tremble and he all but drops you on his cock. Pussy in an instant stretch, with very little room to adjust, you cry out in his ear. Though your voice may be broken and pitchy, Jungkook doesn’t flinch. When it comes to you, the usual results never qualify. You are one of a kind, as unique as him.

His muscles flex under your palms. Hands finding their place on your ass again, Jungkook guides your thrusts. He can practically feel your weakening body with every bounce and grind against him. You know he can. He shows it in every tightening grip on your ass and grunt in his moans.

The knot in your stomach is already twisting, conspiring against your better judgement on how long you think you can last. You’ve never been able to outlast him, cumming twice before he finally reaches his first orgasm of the night. He’s just so big and hits those right places way before the rest of him can catch up. How he manages to brush up against your softest spots within the first three thrusts will always be beyond your comprehension. He’s just that good.

The choked moan that leaves him resembles a chuckle. A frustrated whine escapes you. Is he still listening to your thoughts? It’s not like you’re thinking anything he already hasn’t heard you say, or rather scream, but it still somewhat embrassasses you to know that he will always hear how whipped you are for him.

“Tell me,” you plead with your lips pressed just under his ear. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

The sparkling water around you begins to splash out of the fountain bowl as Jungkook speeds up the pace of your bounces. Deciding your ass seems to be too much of a distraction to him, you pause mid-thrust and move his hands up to your hips. A shuddering gasp escapes him as you carry on with the bounces at his same pace. Your ass claps in and out of the water, thrashing water all around the ground.

Jungkook digs his short nails into the flesh of your hips, growling every time you whine at his tightening grip. Forehead against his, you catch his gaze and offer an innocent one. “I’m-” he cuts himself off, realizing how breathless and dazed he sounds. You nuzzle your face into his as a silent attempt to encourage him to continue. “Kiss me,” he begs.

If you weren’t stuffed full of his cock and extremely enchanted by the way he pretends to sound composed, you would’ve refused to kiss him and insisted that he finish that sentence. And that knot in the pit of your gut only tightens with the grip of your pussy. Pressing your lips against his, you slip your tongue in and let him swallow your moans.

The moment his tongue tackles yours, your legs quake. Thrusts hesitating, your body begins to spasm against his. Your hands grapple at his shoulder just to ensure you stay a float as your threatening orgasm continues to build.

“Jungk-” You break the kiss to tell him, to ask as he has taught you over and over again.

But Jungkook only latches his lips onto yours once more. You gulp down a moan or two of his before he hisses against your lips, “Just fucking cum. Now, kiss me.”

You may have been drunk off power not too long ago, but as you kiss him again, you realize that he is drunk off you. And that’s all it takes for your ograsm to finally rush over you. Jungkook lifts his hips up to meet your stuttering ones. Your lips fall off his. Face buried in the crook of his neck, you cry out his name and cream all over his cock.

“I’m thinking you’re such a good girl for cumming like this,” he suddenly whispers as you ride out your orgasm. Even with your ears ringing and mind shuddering from the second wave of cum gushing all over his hard, huge cock, you can still hear every dirty praise clearly. “My whore got herself off so well.”

The whine that escapes you from his words alone is borderline pornographic. Jungkook even feels it, arching his back so his chest collides with yours as well. “You’re so sexy,” he whimpers as you babble fountain water by his shoulder from exhaustion.

Wet, wet, wet; everything is wet. You’re both drenched in lube tinted waters, cum, and your desires. You can’t revel in it though, as the skirts of your dress float the surface and corset clings to your chest all too tightly. You can barely find it in you to breathe, let alone tell him that you need a quick break.

“No,” he groans, settling you on his thighs. Circling his hips into yours, Jungkook grips onto the nape of your neck to peel you off him.

Your heart stumbles as your mind races to figure out what you’ve done that was so wrong, he’s wanting to stop the night here. “I’m sorr-”

“You don’t need a break,” he sighs between moans. He sits himself up, his wings extending only to drape over the lip of the fountain’s bowl. All movements underwater cease as he digs his fingers into the bust of your corset. In one swift motion, Jungkook tears the first few laces apart, instantly sending a full batch of oxygen to your lungs.

Gasping, you gaze down at your torn dress before glaring at him. Maybe with just a wet dress, you could have explained your way out of whatever mess this is going to get you in when you attempt to return to the party. However, a torn dress will not be that easy to explain. You want to glare at him and tell him off but he shoves his face between your now exposed breasts and moans before you’re able to.

He moves your hands up his shoulders so your arms drape over them, then settles them on his favourite place; your ass. Two of his fingers push between your cheeks and stroke your hole. His touch there is much smoother than before and you suspect that it must be the bow-tipped lube.

You moan quietly, resting your chin atop his damp head as he kisses and bites at your breasts. Your pussy still hasn’t recovered from your orgasm seconds ago. In fact, truth be told, your entire body is having trouble recuperating after cumming that hard in a week. But you want more of him and he still hasn’t filled you of his godly load yet. And with his fingers circling around your asshole, you can’t deny him the second ride he’s patiently waiting for.

A slow grind of hips into hips is a good start, you tell yourself. You’ve never really had to deal with this before, since Jungkook would usually just keep pounding into you despite the fact that he knows your limbs are exhausted from one orgasm already. Clenching your jaw, you start to bounce again, ass clapping against his thighs in suppressed thumps underwater. The overstimulated pleasure brings tears to your eyes. You cry out his name and hold onto his wings.

He groans against your right breast from the contact. You’re about to apologize, knowing his wings are sensitive, when he shoves his fingers into your tightest hole. You freeze and throw your head back from how easily he slipped in and how fucking good it feels. Jungkook scissors his fingers within you, peeking a glance up from between your breasts.

“Are you okay, baby?” he slurs. He licks up the valley of your breasts, holding your gaze shamelessly.

“Mhm,” you mewl.

Resuming your thrusts, you feel your tears run down your face freely. You don’t even have it in you to wipe them away. Your hands, instead, centre around his back. You scratch at it for a bit until you feel him add a finger. Moans tumble into his wet hair as your fingers trail up the length of his spine.

Jungkook stiffens. A choked groan tears from his throat and he hides his face further into your breasts. They bounce around his cheeks with each hop on his cock. Too consumed by your own overstimulated pleasure to dwell much thought on his movements, or lack thereof, you mindlessly repeat the action. You stroke his spine once more and then you hear it.

He sobs a moan.

You still your hips, looking down at him. As you run a hand through his hair, you’re about to ask if he’s okay when the whooshing flutter of wings obscures your vision. One second, you’re straddling his lap with his fingers in your ass. The next, you’re the one submerged in the water with him hovering over you. Wings fully extended, face stained with tears, Jungkook makes sure your arms are resting over his shoulders like before then takes up a deadly speed of thrusts into you.

His speed defies the laws of physics, hips moving much faster than they should underwater. Half the fountain is on the ground from the force of his movement. All you can do is sob with him as your body becomes his only source of pleasure.

What’s gotten into him? He doesn’t even have an interest in your ass anymore, hands locked in a death-like grip on your hips. In a moment of pure animalistic pleasure, you just wish you knew what’s running through his head.

“You,” he growls in a pout. “You’re all I think about, you fucking whore. You’re all I can ever think about.” He swallows thickly before continuing, “You can’t go one second without thinking of me and now all I can hear is your voice. All the time; it’s you, you, you.”

You don’t know if you should apologize or cum from the simple confession alone. His voice, his words, his entire fucking attitude has you aching to cum all over again.

Jungkook stumbles over his chuckles. “You just love seeing me like this, huh? You love seeing me worship you, baby?”

Worship. Does he want you to cum that badly that he’s willing to lie? You both know he doesn’t worshi-

A sharp thrust derails your thoughts. Your eyes roll back as you moan out his name.

“You’re my goddess,” he confesses. “You’re my only goddess.”

He repeats the phrase over and over again until that’s all that rings in your ear, in your heart, in your soul. His release paints your tightening walls. The knots within your gut have unraveled long ago and it’s only when your blurred vision somewhat clears and convulsing body trickles into tremors do you realize that you’ve both cum together to the words he’s still repeating.

Voice a tiny, gruff whisper, Jungkook whispers, “My goddess.”

He’s serious. He must be. He truly worships you. The tears in his eyes, the break in his voice, the truth is clear and just as starkly bare as he is between your legs. His eyes suddenly flash with worry, almost as if he’s recognized what he’s said. He meant what he said, you realize, but he never meant to say it.

Jungkook gingerly pulls out of you as you try to seat yourself up. You pull your legs into your chest and watch him take a seat beside you. He leans his head back against the rim of the fountain and gazes up at the sky. You follow his gaze, noticing it’s gotten much darker out, the silver stream of stars piercing an indigo backdrop no more. A midnight black cloaks the world above you, a crescent moon lighting up your night and an array of stars twinkling down at you. Though your mind is still foggy from your recent orgasms, body still shuddering, you can’t help but think about his words. What makes him think you belong up there, amongst true gods and goddesses?

His wings twitch as they tuck themselves behind him. You know that combination well. He’s hiding something. Usually, you don’t ask, knowing he will only deflect the topic and shower you with attention and praises instead. But, his spoken thoughts are now looping around your mind, begging to be answered.

“Jungkook,” you mutter, shifting closer to him. Face still stained with tears, he forces himself to look at you. The questions are on the tip of your tongue; what, why, when? However, as you part your lips all you can bring yourself to say is, “I didn’t hear anything.”

You’re my goddess.

The words return with ten times the force they previously held. It’s almost like denying their existence is just as blasphemous as saying them. You swallow thickly and try to extract the words from your mind, but it's too late. They are as entrenched in your bones as your affection for him is. There is no undoing what has been done.

You bring a hand up to his face and wipe away the stray tears. He melts into you almost immediately. Maybe it’s best if you return to the party now. You can make up some excuse as to why you’re drenched and torn on your way there. Jungkook’s state is all but worrying and you feel as though you shouldn’t be witnessing this.

“I’m not done with you yet,” he finally says. His voice has regained composure and tone controlled. No more does he choke on his words or laughter. The authority he indirectly bestowed upon you has been returned to him.

You should tell him you’re done, that he shouldn’t say things he doesn’t mean to. You should tell him that he shouldn’t play with your feelings or your heart like this. But, again, the words wither away the moment you part your lips to voice them. And, instead, you ask, “How do you want me?”

Jungkook smirks. His hands snake around your hips and lift you up onto his lap. Back to his chest, you make yourself comfortable, leaning into him. He pushes the excess fabric of your dress aside just to get you as close as possible. Then, you feel it against your ass, pushing its way between your cheeks. His erection is just as hard as when you started. It’s no wonder why he’s not done with you yet. You suppose he didn’t just confess something he can’t take back only to still leave with a full hard-on.

“I thought you didn’t hear anything,” he whispers in your ear as his hands cup the underside of your thighs.

You nervously look at him over your shoulder. “I didn’t.”

He chews on your earlobe, warm tongue caressing your jaw. “I should stop thinking about it,” he whimpers against your skin. “I should stop thinking about you.”

I’m not a goddess, you want to tell him. But, by the way he sucks in a sharp breath, you can tell he’s heard and isn’t impressed. He opens his mouth to say something, maybe to scold you for degrading yourself, or to correct you. The words never arrive.

Jungkook shakily exhales. No more trips into his thoughts it would seem. He remains silent as he spreads your legs and swiftly lifts you up. You expect another harsh round into your pussy but his tip shoves its way through your asshole instead. Throwing your head back, you try to suppress your scream by holding your breath.

It doesn’t hurt as much as it usually does during the first initial thrust of a toy. Whatever he tinted the water with must be the result of a smooth entrance, and a deliciously blissful stretch. You let out a breath you held, along with a loud, high-pitched squeal. Jungkook folds you up well, holding the bend of each knee into your chest as he continues to slowly lower you onto him.

Once you finally take him all in, you settle your entire body back into him. Shuddering breaths, drifting eyes, you hold him deep within you and try not to completely lose yourself in a fit of moans and pleads. You don’t even know what you’d be begging for, just that a string of “pleases” will leave you.

Are you getting bigger, you mentally ask.

He chuckles and shakes his head as his nose nuzzles into your cheeks. He can’t get enough. Inhaling you deeply, you realize that he can’t get enough of you. He even said so in so many words. And you don’t have much of a problem with that considering you can’t ever get enough of him either. You’ve consumed all of his thoughts it would seem and he’s even lost himself to you so much so that he’s declared you his one and only god-

“Fuck!”

The stream of the fountain rushes down on your clit. He holds you straight beneath it as his hips move up and down against your ass. You’re at his total mercy, every thought of ever being in control a complete joke. You rest your head against his shoulders, trembling hands placed over his as a desperate attempt to control yourself.

Your first water wave induced orgasm hits you within seconds. You don’t know for sure, but you’re all but certain that you’re cumming. Your eyes have been screwed shut for a while, and body shaking since this endeavor in the fountain began. Only when you try to close your legs do you confirm that you indeed came.

Jungkook keeps them open though. He ignores your pathetic scratches on his knuckles as you try to explain to him that it’s all just too fucking much for you to take. “Just let me cum,” he tries to soothe between little hushes and murmurs about how good you’re taking his cock.

But then your second orgasm from the fountain hits and you can’t stop squirming in his hold. He keeps you folded and under the water’s subjection nonetheless, somehow even cooling the temperature down. As you shiver under the cold rush, Jungkook positions you higher against him so that the water pours into you instead. You realize, pussy clean of his cum now, that you’re getting fucked by a fountain; a fountain that he controls. And you fucking love it.

Then, there’s the fullness of your ass. Every inch of you is his. If you’re his goddess, he must know that he’s your god. Your one and only.

“Careful,” he warns against your thoughts.

You have an assful of his cock in you, getting off more times than you can both count in a fountain that does not belong to either of you; when have the two of you ever been careful? In fact, your recklessness is what brought you together. Had he not seen you on your balcony every night, he might not be here at all. Carelessness runs in your veins, laced in your tone as you cry out, “You’re my god!”

The clouds rumble above you. The heavens can warn all they want. Interrupting sexual endeavors would do them more harm than it would do you.

“If you want to cum, you’ll behave,” Jungkook hisses. His thrusts suddenly snap into something primal.

Your body bounces every time, water rushing down your clit once more. This time you feel your orgasm build, and fast. Toes curling, eyes rolling to the back of your head, you hold onto every twisting, clenching knot at the pit of your stomach.

“Ask!”

“Please?”

A particular ram into your ass lets you know that half-hearted plea won’t get you very far. He doesn’t deign to repeat himself. Instead, he lets his harsh movements and bone-rattling growls speak for him.

“Please let me cum, Jungkook, please.”

“Again.”

“Please, please, please, Jungkook.”

He doesn’t say it. But you feel it. You feel the approval in the form of a gentle kiss against your ear. Hips a craze, rolling against the wave, you clench your jaw and try to channel all your pleasure in a high-pitched moan rather than the cry your lungs are desperate to let out. Your cum gushes then, juices squirt seconds later. Entire body on fire, under the scrutiny of the stream as you try and fail to recollect yourself. You’re shattered, ruined, obliterated by his cock and this fountain of fantasies.

“That’s a good girl,” he coos. “That’s my good girl.”

His. His. Gods, the things you would do to be his always, not just under the cover of the night. Jungkook releases your legs, wrapping his arms around your waist as he grounds your ass over his hips. Load after load shoots within you, making your giggle and shake with ecstasy at the filling sensation of being stuffed so well.

“Ah-yah, baby,” he groans in a scowl against your jawline. “You’ve got the tightest little hole for me, hmm? If you weren’t so exhausted, I’d have us do this all over again.”

Exhaustion. Yes, that’s what you’re feeling. With your mind foggy and broken from the countless orgasms he’s sent through you, you can barely find it in you to breathe, let alone think to go for another round. Your body’s only excuse for staying afloat is the winged god behind you. He clutches onto you as if his only reason for surviving is you. And judging by his previous confession, that very well might be the case.

Jungkook rests back against the fountain’s edge once he’s done. Gasping for air, he continues to hold onto you, kissing your shoulder mindlessly. “I never really know how much I miss you until I have you,” he whispers. His teeth graze your supple skin.

Body limp, you can’t find it in you to reply. All you can think is after he pulls out, he’s going to fly back to Gods know where and leave you to hobble back to the party alone. After all, isn’t that how every night ends? You two share a passionate few moments, both have out of body experiences when orgasming, then you fall asleep and he sneaks away. What’s to say this night won’t be any different?

“I thought I told you to trust me?”

“I do.”

He scoffs. You don’t blame him. Your words are hardly convincing. It has nothing to do with the fact that you just came five or six different times. It’s the lack of commitment in your tone that tips him off. You hear it too. You really do trust him. He’s just let you down too many times to count.

“What more do I need to do? I’m with you every chance I get.”

Exhaustion. It’s not a physical one, not the one you’re still recovering from. It’s one of the mind. He’s exhausted with this back and forth. You are too. This isn’t exactly what you thought your first relationship would look like.

He pauses, body freezing beneath you.

Oh, right. He’s in your mind. He heard that. Is that not what this is, though? Isn’t this a relationship?

“Say it.”

“What?”

“Say it,” You repeat, looking at him over your shoulder.

Jungkook starts to soften in you. You’ve really set him off now. He lifts you up and off his cock, sitting you on his thigh and ignoring the way you hiss and whine at the discomfort. You turn to glare at him over your shoulder only to find him already glaring at you.

“Do you want me to come back?”

Is he threatening you? “Do I have to remind you who came here begging-”

“You lied!” He cuts you off with a shout.

“You knew that, though. You knew I was lying,” you point out, a pout starting to overtake your features. “You came because you missed me.”

“That’s never been a secret.”

“Say it then, Jungkook. Say this is a relationship.”

He falls silent. His once annoyed eyes can’t even meet yours.

“I know you’re jealous of Lee Ky-”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he scoffs. Shaking his head, he forces himself to meet your gaze.

Sad tears vary drastically from blissful ones. Tears of bliss soothe the pleasure and make it bearable. Tears of sadness sting your eyes, pierce your heart and shed any part of you that can make such a situation bearable. Sad tears only remind you of your pain.

Your eyes sting with despair as he regards you with such frustration. Emptying your mind, discarding all thoughts, you ask, “Are you coming tomorrow?”

Jungkook sighs, but not a beat of hesitance affects his answer. “Of course.”

You raise a brow. See?

“Fine. This is a relationship,” he mutters. “What does that change?”

Nothing. It hasn’t changed a thing. You don’t even feel any different, any better. Maybe it’s because you forced it out of him? You don’t know. The tears only fall faster though, and you can’t bear to look at him. Your heart’s conflicted, shattered and replaced all at once because, though he is the cause of your tears, his presence is also the only thing soothing them. You wrap your arms around his neck and rest your temple over his.

You can at least relish in his company for a few moments longer. And his scent, that intoxicating waft of creamy coconut and sweet peony orchards returns now that all that mud and grime has been washed off. The scent is comforting enough for you to relax in his arms and forget your pain for a second.

“That’s not what I smell like,” he whispers. You tilt your head away to get a better look at him. A little smirk tugs on the corner of his lip as he says, “It’s what you smell like.”

Impossible. He’s always smelled like at the end of every night. You’d cuddle into his chest and inhale a breathful of the tropical scent. How could that be what you smell like if he reeks of it? The knowing look in his eyes is enough of a hint for you to realize you know the answer. He’s dripping with your essence every night because he spent the night in you. You wonder if you smell like him too.

He sighs, circling his arms lazily around your waist. He deeply inhales your skin, smiling against it, but doesn’t answer your mentally posed question. Damp hair clinging to the sides of your faces, you settle in the other’s company. One of his hands rises from the water and wipes away your tears. As you sniffle, he whispers, “I promise I’m-”

“Doing the best you can,” you croak, finishing his sentence with him.

Yes, yes. You’ve heard it all before. You don’t think he’s lying, your Eros is no liar. You do believe that he is, in fact, doing the best he can. But if his best is only a few hours every night, you’re not sure you can accept that. And, yet, you also can’t find it in you to truly, with all your heart, reject it as well.

He needs to prove his devotion to you in another way. A risky thought then tiptoes into your mind. Gulping down the lump in your throat, you take a deep breath and ask, “Could you do me a tiny favour?”

Jungkook’s hesitant to meet your gaze. He glances at you through his peripherals, otherwise keeping his gaze locked on your breasts. Whether he’s trying to distract himself or not, you still push them out a bit in hopes that they will grant you the “yes” you’re hoping to hear.

He nods.

With a little kiss upon his cheek, you stroke his shoulder with the soft tips of your fingers and ask, “Would you please escort me to my sister’s wedding?”

He turns his head away from you. Staring across at the other side of the garden, Jungkook withdraws from you. His hands fall off your frame as he heavily sighs. You press yourself against him, trying to regain his attention but he only shakes his head.

“Acting cute won’t make this any easier,” he grumbles.

You huff and slouch against him. “How about just the rehearsal dinner?” You try to negotiate. When he rolls his eyes, you quickly add, “I’ll be stuck with Kyon and honestly I don’t think I handle another minute of his incorrect reilieration about history.”

Jungkook snaps his head towards you at the mention of another man. You cock a brow to which he only scoffs at. “You’re being obnoxious,” he seethes. “And unbelievably selfish.”

“So?” you question before you can stop yourself. His words sting, slicing through your confidence all too easily. There isn’t much room for thinking and even if there was, he would be listening to them anyways. So, you might as well say what you want out loud. “Was it not selfish of you to make me wait-”

“For fuck’s sake,” he mutters under his breath. “I’m not going to repeat myself, (Y/N). You can’t keep telling me that you trust me only to keep bringing this up. I was busy. You had to wait. It didn’t kill you.”

Your tears have returned. He rolls his eyes at the sight. Whatever remnants of your heart you thought you had has been obliviated. “You make me feel so loved,” you whisper as your hands retract from his body.

Jungkook’s expression disarms all hostility. His eyes reflect regret but you’ve heard, seen all you need to.

“But why do you only make me feel this way when we’re naked?”

“You’re not naked,” he’s quick to reply.

It’s your turn to scoff. How can a god be this dense? “Aren’t I, though? Tell me, Jeon Jungkook, whose thoughts are open for the other to hear? Who is the one waiting, praying for the other’s attention? Who has been bare since first glance on the stupid balcony you left last night?”

Before he couldn’t meet your eye out of disinterest, but now he avoids your gaze out of guilt. Yes, you’ve been obnoxious, selfish, maybe even a little entitled. However, you’ve had a god to yourself for months. You’ve had endless moments of ecstasy that only end in soft cuddles and whispered sweet nothings into the night. Is wanting that attention when the sun hasn’t set yet too much to ask?

Jungkook parts his lips to reply when his eyes suddenly shoot up. He sits up, almost knocking you off his lap and snaps his head towards the very pathway you came from.

“(Y/N)!”

You gasp upon hearing your mother’s voice. The clicks of her heels draw further towards you and before you can look at Jungkook and ask what you should do, what you should say, you’re thrown into the fountain.

Ice cold waves engulf you as you inhale a good chunk of the fountain. Your lungs burn from the accidental intake of water. You only just get your hands under you and sit yourself up and out of the water as quickly as you can. Familiar shouts ring in the distance. Coughing up the fountain, you push your hair back and look around the garden.

Your mother is staring at you in utter shock, screaming at you to come out but refusing to help you herself. As you try to lift yourself up, you find the water has returned to its usual clarity and that Jungkook is nowhere to be found. He seriously left you to almost drown in the fountain by yourself? He’d be lucky to get more than a kiss from your tomorrow night. You can’t believe he has the audacity to yell at you then let you there like that. In a fit of anger, you send a lashing string after lashing string of profanities to him in the form of a prayer.

“Miss (L/N)!”

Your blood chills. Hands on the lip of the fountain, you turn towards his voice. Fully dressed in a dark blue suit, his wings nowhere to be found, and dry hair pulled back a neat ponytail, Jungkook rushes over to you. His strong hands settle on your waist before he effortlessly scoops you out.

All you can do is stare. Mouth agape, eyes vacant, you try to figure out why the hell he made himself all presentable and left you looking like a mess. You want to whisper your profanities and swear that he will never touch your ass for leaving you in such a mess, but all you can find yourself saying is, “Mr. Jeon.”

His eyes shoot to the sky as your mother rushes towards you. Nothing is making sense and you only wish you can read his mind to know what to do next.

“Goodness, (Y/N),” your mother hisses as she rushes towards you. “Cover yourself!”

Looking down at your bust, you gasp. Oh, right, he tore it. Crossing your arms over your chest, you look up at him and glare. But Jungkook only takes off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders. It’s only when you feel your mother’s arms around you do you realize that you’re shivering.

“What have you done to yourself now?” she whispers in your ear.

Her eyes then settle on Jungkook. That look graces her face. That look of assessment. She’s scanning the unknown god up and down, looking for signs of wealth, status, and reliability. It doesn’t take her long to innocently smile and fall victim to his beauty, “Thank you kindly, Mr. Jeon.”

He bows his head then turns to you and says, “I told you not to sit on the edge.” Jungkook fakes a polished chuckle. He shakes his head at you when your eyes narrow at him. “I told her, Mrs. (L/N), I told her the marble is slippery. But, Miss (L/N) just had to get a better look at those flowers.”

You glance back at the fountain with your mother, finding an array of tiger lilies floating in the bowl. All this trouble to explain why you’re wet? You look back at him cautiously and wonder what the end of this conversation is meant to look like.

“Yes, she loves flowers,” your mother sighs. She then sets her sights on Jungkook once more and asks, “Jeon… I’m not sure I know of the Jeons. Are you from out of town?”

Jungkook charms your mother instantly with that kind, toothy smile of his. He nods and compliments her quick wits, to which she laughs, then explains, “I’m visiting for the wedding.”

The wedding? Does that mean?

“Miss (L/N) invited me. I’m rather glad to have run into you, Mrs. (L/N) as I was hoping to ask permission to escort your daughter to the wedding.”

One of your hands, previously covering your right breast, shoots up to cover your mouth out of utter shock. Did he orchestrate all this just to agree to your favour? You hope you haven’t guilted him into it. You’ve done that to get him here and admit to your relationship; you already regret doing that. You just hope he’s acting on his own accord right now.

Jungkook shoots you a wink as your mother fixes the jacket so that your uncovered breast is concealed once more. Sighing of relief, you offer him a grateful smile.

“Are you sure?” Your mother suddenly asks, looking back to Jungkook. “(Y/N) is the one you want to escort?”

He glances at you and smiles. “Miss (L/N) the one and only thing I’m always sure about.”

Your mother raises a brow at you. She smells something fishy, knows something is off about this entire encounter. You watch her carefully as she looks between you and Jungkook. And when you expect her to refuse, to lecture you in front of him, your mother adopts an opposite approach. She smiles upon the two of you and shifts you closer to Jungkook.

“I would be delighted to have you escort my daughter, Mr. Jeon,” she beams. “Do you mind walking (Y/N) to the carriages? I cannot let her go back and drip all over the Barbury’s rugs.”

Jungkook offers you his elbow, returning your mother’s smile. “It would be my pleasure.”

You stumble towards Jungkook, your mother practically pushing you into him. With a shaky hand, you take his arm and let him guide you out of the maze. After a turn or two within the tall hedges, you part your lips to ask him what he thinks he’s doing.

However, Jungkook fills the silence before you can. “I’ll buy you an entire bouquet of lilies, darling. Just promise me to never fall into a fountain again,” he laughs, exaggerating the volume of his voice.

This time, you pick up on his hints and realize that your mother must still be close by if he’s still putting up such an act. “I promise it won’t happen again, Mr. Jeon,” you innocently reply.

A smirk, you know is real, graces his features. He walks you around the manor and to the front of the house before breaking out of this noble character of his. “I think she bought it. Your mother is a very suspicious woman.”

You scoff. “That’s just one of many titles she holds,” you mumble under your breath. As you walk towards your family’s carriage, you can’t help but ask, “Why did you do that?”

Jungkook stops you before the door and takes both your hands in his. Those amused eyes linger around your exposed breasts. He chuckles a bit at the way you arch your back to keep them there, making you giggle along with him.

“Are you happy?”

You pause. Is that why he did this? To make you happy?

“Are you?”

He gives you a pointed look. “Answer the question, (Y/N).”

“Are you just doing this to make me happy, Jungkook?” You ask instead. “Because I will go back to her and tell her that we were both in that fountain and-”

“So what if I am?” He cuts you off. “I want you to be happy, (Y/N). Why is that so wrong?”

It’s not. There’s nothing wrong with him wanting you to be happy. But you want him to be happy with his decision. You’ve forced him into admitting things and meeting you. You don’t want to force him into this too. You want him to want to take you, to want to be with you. That is what true happiness is to you. It’s Jungkook unconditionally wanting you the way you unconditionally want him.

Jungkook cups your face. Leaning his forehead against yours, he whispers, “I’m sorry I make you think I don’t want you just as much as you want me.” His nose brushes against yours, hitching your breath as he presses himself against you and continues in a breathy whisper, “Watching you cry breaks me in ways I can’t describe. And being the reason for your tears just destroys me, (Y/N). I’ll do anything to see you smile again.”

Then, he presses his lips upon yours, reaching for the carriage door behind you. When he pulls away, he doesn’t give you a chance to reply, ushering you into your seat. “I’ll see you tomorrow night, baby,” he smiles.

You’ve misjudged him for the third time tonight. Thinking he doesn’t care for you, thinking he left you, and thinking he doesn’t want you. All you can do now is pray that he forgives you for all the curses you’ve hurled his way.

He chuckles and places kisses on both your hands. “It was very amusing actually.”

You nod. “I’m sure.” But, you’re still sorry.

With one last round of kisses over your knuckles, Jungkook promises, “I won’t be late.”

“I’ll be waiting regardless,” you immediately reply.

The next three words are on the tip of your tongue. He can almost hear them, judging by the twitch of his brows. You don’t have a chance to say them though as he clears his throat and shuts the door. You watch him from the window, shakily exhaling.

Jungkook calls the coachmen. The carriage jerks forward. The lasting image of his smirk, those sweet eyes and that muscular frame is all you try to see. However, in seconds, he’s pulled from view. The only memory you have of him remains with that sacrilegious confession in a fountain of fantasies.

note; please do not leave hate towards me or any other readers. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my work without my permission.

#networkbangtan #btsguild #btswritingcafe #bangtanfairygarden #bangtanhq #goldenclosetnet #btsgoldnet #magicshopnet #jungkook smut #greek god au #jungkook fluff #jeon jungkook smut #jeon jungkook fluff #bts smut

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tinydooms · 3 years

Note

I am so sorry to hear about your situation, I hope you are otherwise doing well. May I please request a prompt for Evie and Rick having a reading day (specifically set right after the first film, so they still are a little awkward around each other but still love and trust one another... I don't know, what ever you write, I love, so hopefully this gave you some inspiration but take it where you please :))

Thank you for your kind words! It's been a hell of a week, but I'm finally feeling better. Here is your fic: I hope you like it!

Cairo, October 1922

Evie woke up from her nap slowly, coming up out of deep sleep to find her Fort Brydon bedroom full of afternoon sunlight. The ceiling fan hummed overhead; the apartment was quiet save for the soft sound. Evie stretched, relishing the pull of her muscles and the softness of the bed beneath her. It was good to be back.

Her stomach gurgled and with a sigh, she sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Time for tea. Hot tea, and lots of it, and maybe a sandwich or three. She was starving. There was nothing like roughing it in the desert to bring one’s attention to the blessings of home and a fully-stocked larder. Would the men be hungry? Probably. She had left Rick and Jonathan to their own devices after Dr. Wilkinson had looked them all over earlier that day; he had prescribed plenty of water and rest after their long, hot trek back from Hamunaptra. Opening her bedroom door, Evie looked around for the men. Jonathan’s bedroom door was closed; he was probably napping. Rick was where Evie had left him earlier, lying on his cot by the window with a couple of ice packs soothing his cracked ribs, head cushioned on a stack of pillows, a book in hand. He looked up as she came into the room.

“Hey,” Rick said, flashing her that sideways smile. “Did you have a good sleep?”

“Yes, thanks,” Evie said. “What are you reading?”

Rick waved the book at her. “Ah, Persuasion. I went through your bookshelf; I hope you don’t mind.”

Evie blinked. “You’re reading Persuasion?”

“Yeah, I’ve heard it’s one of Austen’s best and I didn’t feel like reading anything related to ancient curses. I’d only read her other one--I don’t remember the title in English--Orgueil et préjugés--the one where they despise each other at first because her family is obnoxious and he’s really shy and arrogant.” Rick lifted an eyebrow at the look on Evie’s face. “I do know how to read, you know.”

She realized that she was gaping at him, open-mouthed. Shame boiled up in Evie; of course he knew how to read. “I’m sorry. I just meant, I didn’t have you down as the type to read social satire.”

She hadn’t had him down as the type to read, period, but then, Rick had mentioned liking Arsène Lupin and Sherlock Holmes, hadn’t he? And there had been a couple of books in his suitcase last night, when she looked through it for clothes to lay out for him.

Rick grinned. "It’s okay, Evelyn. I know what I look like. We’re still getting to know each other.” He shifted, laying the book down on his stomach. “Actually, I really like reading. I’ve made it a point throughout my life to maintain membership at whatever public libraries are available.”

This was new and intriguing information. Evie sat down in the armchair and curled her legs under her.

“What sort of things do you like to read about?”

Rick cocked his head, thinking. “Honestly? I’ll read just about anything as long as I can understand it. I like detective novels and adventure stories, though I think I’m going to go off those for a while.” They grinned at each other. “I read a lot of art history books before the War, and I like a good popular history. I’m not educated; I only went to school through the eighth grade. Maybe if my mom hadn’t died, I’d have finished high school and gone to college, but, well…”

He shrugged. Life hadn’t worked out that way.

“But you read,” Evie said. “My mother used to say that anyone can learn anything they like if they are willing to read about it.”

Rick nodded. “My mom used to say something like that, too. She absolutely refused to let me quit school and get a job in a factory, even though it would have helped.” A shadow passed over his face; Evie saw him push it away. “Would you like something to eat?” he said, rising up on his elbows. “Your stomach is rumbling.”

“Oh! Yes, I’d come out for tea,” Evie said, scrambling to her feet. “Don’t get up; you’re supposed to be resting.”

Rick blinked. “I’ve been resting all day. It doesn’t hurt as bad as it did, you know.”

“Still.” Evie bustled off towards the kitchen. “You’ve looked after me so well these past weeks, it’s time for me to return the favor. Would you like a sandwich? How do you take your tea?”

Rick sat up, moving slowly. “Strong, with milk and a little honey, if you’ve got it. Thanks.”

Evie smiled at him; he smiled back. She bustled around the little kitchen, setting the kettle to boil and making up sandwiches, and when everything was ready she carried it through to the table and held out a hand to help Rick up. He took it, looking at her in a way that made her blush, and followed her to the table.

“Thank you,” he said, looking from the plate of sandwiches to Evie. “All this, I don’t-- Thank you.”

Evie smiled at him again; again, he smiled back, and for a moment they stood grinning foolishly at each other. It was all so new, this togetherness, this friendship. Funny how one could learn everything there was to know about a person’s character by their actions, and still know hardly anything about them as a person. Evie gestured for Rick to sit, and they fell on the sandwiches.

“So tell me,” Rick said after they had spent a few minutes quietly eating. “What’s your favorite book? Besides the Book of Amun-Ra. I’m sorry about that, by the way. Jonathan didn’t mean to drop it.”

“I know.” A pang flashed through Evie as she remembered the splash the book had made as it hit the water in the crypt’s brackish pool. “But we made it out with our lives, and we have all of the rubbings and sketches we made before we, er, raised him, so it’s not a complete loss. And as to your question…” She sipped her tea, thinking. “Do you mean favorite novel or favorite book? Because I’m not sure I can pick just one.”

“Top three, then.” Rick leaned on his elbow, watching her with the same interest he had shown at Hamunaptra. Evie felt herself blushing. She could get used to this.

“Well, then, I would probably have to say Professor Walter Emerson’s book on hieroglyphics, since it was a huge influence on me when I was a child; Flinders Petrie’s book Naukratis, and well, Persuasion.”

Rick grinned. “Which is why it was here, among all the books on Egyptology.”

“Quite.” Evie brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. She hadn’t bothered to pin her hair up. “What about you?”

Rick sat back, cradling his teacup in his big, strong hands. “I’d say my favorite book is Around the World in Eighty Days. I have a sentimental attachment to it; it was my favorite as a kid. I’ve read it in the original French, but I like the English translation better. But if I had a top three…” He paused to sip, thinking. “I don’t know, actually. I really like Edgar Rice Burroughs’ Tarzan and John Carter books, and I like Rudyard Kipling. I read a lot of Dickens after Gallipoli; they had his complete works at the hospital my regiment was sent to afterwards.”

“You were injured?”

“No.” A shadow passed through Rick’s eyes. “I mean, yes, I got shot in the side, but it was more a flesh wound than anything else. No, they sent us to rest and recuperate before going back to battle. It was a good break.”

He put the teacup down and reached for the pot. Evie hastened to lift it and refill. She brushed Rick’s hand as she scooted the milk jug towards him. He had such beautiful hands.

“I’ve never read Dickens,” she admitted, and he gave her a surprised look. “His writing never grabbed my attention,” she added. “I was much more interested in ancient stories than modern ones.”

“You don’t say.” Rick looked amused. “And you, a librarian. Is that what you got your degree in?”

“Library science? No, I did that afterwards. I, er, I studied Classics and Antiquity at university.”

Rick shifted his hands on the table, moving them close enough to tap the back of Evie’s hand. “Tell me.”

“You don’t mind that I went to university?”

The question leaped out before she could stop it, the tiny insecurity that Evie had always carried deep inside her and only rarely acknowledged. So many men were threatened by academic women. Rick looked astonished.

“Why would I mind that you went to university?” he asked. “Everybody should have the chance to go to university. I’d have loved to go to college. And anyway, of course you’re educated, I mean, look at you. With everything that’s happened the last few weeks, we’d all have died if you hadn’t known exactly what to do and how to read those hieroglyphs and all.”

“I know. It’s just...academic women are...frowned upon by society,” she said. “And I know we met in extraordinary circumstances, but I’ve never...You don’t think I’m ridiculous?”

Rick shook his head. “Nah, Evie, I’m crazy about you.”

And the little flame of her worry flickered and died. Evie smiled at him, folded her fingers around his. Rick squeezed her hand and raised it to his lips. They were going to be just fine.

#asks and answers #prompts #my fanfics #The Mummy #Rick and Evie #Rick O'Connell #Evelyn Carnahan #it amuses me to write Rick as a reader #I mean why not?

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imagine-loki · 3 years

Text

Omega Mine

TITLE: Omega Mine

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: 3/?

AUTHOR: nekoamamori

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Loosely based on: Imagine Loki discovers the Avengers have an omega who has healing powers living with them. He’s an Alpha and he wants her, badly.

RATING: M (eventually )

NOTES/WARNINGS: Also on AO3 click here

Captain Rogers led you over to the coffee table where he’d set the glasses of water. It was a much more cozy and intimate environment than a stuffy meeting room would have been. You saw instantly that he was trying to make you feel comfortable, to feel at home. There were usually accommodations when Omegas were concerned. You appreciated the thought, though you weren’t going to freak out over every little thing. Some Omegas did, but that wasn’t you.

You took the seat Captain Rogers offered you as gracefully as you could. The chair was comfortable and plush. You reached for the glass of water Captain Rogers had set by your chair and took a sip as he took his seat in the chair across from the small coffee table. He looked you over, properly evaluating you, taking in your scent, your psychic scent, your aura, your appearance.

He gave you a warm smile and a wry laugh as you set your water glass down. “I’m supposed to be interviewing you, but to be honest, I have no idea what I’m doing,” he admitted with a sheepish heartwarming smile. You’d heard from interviews that Steve had an unAlpha-like level of social anxiety. There was one interview you remembered where he spent it doodling on Wanda’s hand with a sharpie every time he got anxious.

You gave him a reassuring smile. It was one you had well-practiced for soothing Alpha tempers. It also worked wonders on anxieties. You saw Steve relax at your reassuring smile, your calm demeanor. “That’s alright, Captain,” you reassured him. Typically, you’d address any Alpha as ‘Alpha’, but those with titles tended to prefer to be addressed by their actual title. “Why is the team looking for an Omega?” You asked him instead. It was a valid interview question and would get the ball rolling on the conversation. It wasn’t exactly omega-like to start asking the questions, but it was within your nature to soothe Alphas, and Steve seemed to need you to start the conversation.

He visibly relaxed and took a sip of water from his own glass. “The team is made up of strong personalities. Most of us are Alphas, which can lead to clashes of those strong personalities. There are a couple of Omegas on the team, but…” he hesitated, not wanting to give out too much information, not until you passed the interview. “They aren’t the kind of Omega we need in this role,” that was a polite way of saying that they weren’t capable of caring for the heart of the group. You wouldn’t find out why until later, until you met the rest of the team, but you understood what Steve wasn’t saying.

“And it would likely be useful to have a healer among you, with the work you guys do,” you agreed easily.

Steve nodded, seeming impressed that you’d understood the reason you’d been chosen. He finally seemed to warm up to you and asked questions of his own when he got comfortable with your presence. You told him about yourself, your likes and dislikes, your medical and healing history, the places you’d worked before and your schooling. He nodded along, clearly liking what he was hearing.

“You sound like a great fit,” Steve told you after you’d talked with him for awhile. “Why don’t I show you the tower? Then I’ll introduce you to the rest of the team?”

You nodded your agreement, noting that you’d passed the next part of this test. Steve approved of you. He’d be showing you where you’d be living and working. If you liked that, then he would introduce you to the rest of the team. “That sounds like a plan,” you said as you stood and smoothed out your jacket.

Steve stood as well. “This is the common floor, where the team hangs out in our off time. We have the common room, dining room, and kitchen. There’s also a couple smaller gathering rooms and a mandatory Omega room and Alpha room,” he explained as he started walking to show you the rooms in question. You had to work to keep up with his longer stride.

You weren’t surprised that the tower had an Alpha room and an Omega room. They were required in all large public buildings. Malls, large office buildings, hospitals especially. Sometimes the rooms were just one room that could be used for either caste, but regardless, the room existed. Usually, they weren’t necessary in a residence, even apartment buildings and dorms, but with this being a mixed residence and the head of operations for the Avengers. There would be others who visited the tower besides just those who lived here. Those rooms were specially designed for if an Alpha went into rut or an Omega into heat unexpectedly. They were safe rooms, to keep the occupant in the room safe from those outside, and to keep those outside safe from the occupant. It was a safety precaution for everyone involved.

The kitchen and dining room were amazing. Steve showed you the little meeting rooms. They looked like little living rooms, except for the one that was set up as a proper office. “If you have guests over, they can meet safely here. No one except residents are allowed on the rest of the residential floors. There are more meeting rooms on lower floors for official business,” he explained as you continued walking. He showed you the Alpha and Omega rooms, which were mostly just cells to contain an out of control Alpha or Omega. Still, you felt better knowing they were there. “The rooms are controlled by Jarvis, the AI that controls the tower. He can be trusted with anything,” he reassured you. You nodded along, storing the information away.

Steve led you into the elevator and showed you more of the tower. He explained the different floors and showed you the massive library that took up an entire floor and that Steve had to practically drag you out of. He showed you the medical rooms where you’d be working, which was fully stocked and the nicest medical room you’d ever seen.

Finally, he led you to another floor. “This entire floor will be yours,” he explained as you got off the elevator together. You found yourself in a hallway, not a bright open area like you’d expected. “Over there is another Omega room. This one’s much nicer than the one downstairs,” he explained as he pointed to one doorway. He pulled out a set of keys and opened it to show off a whole little suite on that side of the hall. It was sparse and basic, but it was much nicer than the cell-like omega room downstairs. It even had its own bathroom. You’d be safe and comfortable in the temperature-controlled suite. “Your actual suite is across the hall,” he told you as he led you to the door on the other side of the hall.

It also required keys to open, though Steve mentioned something about the electronic locks being set to you once you moved in. The suite was amazing and was beyond huge. You stepped into a full living room. It had furniture in it, couch, chair, tables, tv, etc, but no knickknacks or decorations yet. There was an attached kitchenette. At Steve’s nod of approval, you explored the rest of the suite. The bedroom was large and luxurious with a full king-sized bed. It even had a walk-in closet. The bathroom was state of the art. There were two empty rooms.

“One is for you to make a nest or a den in,” Steve explained when he saw you looking over those rooms. “The other can be whatever you wish, a study, library, another closet,” he shrugged. It was really up to you what to do with all this space.

“This is amazing~” you told Steve, awe in your voice. You felt yourself perk up and grin. Steve couldn’t seem to help but return the grin.

“Wonderful. Would you like to meet the rest of the team?” He asked warmly. He was clearly liking how this was going. As were you. You were home.

Another test down.

One more left.

And this the most important one.

You nodded eagerly. “Definitely,”

#Loki #Lover #Submitted fic #submission #Omega mine #chapter 3 #nekoamamori

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kpopisthereasonihavenolife · 4 years

Text

i.changkyun / reader

genre: yandere!changkyun, librarian!reader (sex worker!changkyun)

warning(s)!!!: clubbing, mentions of sex/sex work, obsessive behavior, stalking, ‘love at first sight’ but messed up, masturbation (male), implied violence/murder, manipulation, changkyun plays the nice guy role but isn’t, changkyun is also pretty messed up (oops), y/n is oblivious to an astounding degree, implied drugging, chains/collars, confinement, kidnapping

w.count: 12.3k

Series | One-shot | Two-shot | Drabble [Rated: M]

synopsis: im changkyun is a prime sex worker at a local club. nothing gets his pride swelling more than any poser off the street willing to come into his club and pin bills between the elastic of his fishnets and skin. what he finds more exhilarating than any show, pole climb or heated one-night stand, however; is the one sober woman sitting among her group of wasted friends in a velvet, vip booth. he’ll do anything to know everything about her; putting on a friendly smile was only the first step.

a/n: you can blame DAZED for this mess (hi, just in case you need a reminder, this is purely fiction and not at all who changkyun rly is as a person. nothing about this is okay in irl)

This was nothing new. This was just the way his life always played out. An exhilarating erotic number on a stage with a pole, fishnets and teasing personality followed by the highest bidder to continue his line of work in a more secluded section of the club.

Fantasia Dyed may have been a newer club against its competitors that have been around for years, but the workers and staff inside raised the bar previously set. While clubs can be shady to begin with, what with the use of alcohol at every turn, murmurs of drugs, and agreements to met up for a quick money job- Fantasia Dyed had a reputation of the best line of sex workers you could get your dirty hands on. If you had the money, that was.

Im Changkyun was the front man of that line up. Wanted by men, women and anyone in between- if you had the cash he demanded for his services, he was yours for the night. He had no qualm so long as you paid and used the protection he required to keep your own STIs to your damn self. He really wasn’t picky, and he never stopped to ask himself as to why.

So, this- crawling out of some random woman’s creaky, box spring bed and pulling on the clothes he had lost earlier- was nothing new. He looked over his shoulder as he ran his black painted fingers through his blond hair.

The woman was passed out, a fuzzy, brown blanket covering her body as Changkyun turned away from her. Throwing his shirt back on, flinging his jacket over his shoulders and thrusting his arms through the sleeves, he shimmied on his black skinnies and boots. Grabbing his abandoned black, clutch bag from the stranger's couch he unclasped it to look at the envelope of bills he had received just hours earlier from his ‘client’.

Throwing himself on the couch, he crossed his legs and counted the bills, smirking when he was adamant he was paid in full- with even a small service tip he assumed- to cover over his asking price for the night. Satisfied, he got up and left that small apartment he had stumbled into.

It was only when he entered his own home- the top floor penthouse of some wealthy building- did he wonder just for the briefest of moments if he was truly satisfied.

-x-x-x-

“Y/n, if you don't come with me to Fantasia like you promised you would 2 years ago when it opened now that I finally have the money and the chance for my birthday, you’re being grounded.”

You, who was busy replacing books that you had been wheeling around on your return cart back on the shelf, had the lovely company of your best friend sitting behind you at a library table as you worked. She’d been going on and on about her birthday plans and while you were happy she was excited about them, she was adamant on adding you to the attendee list.

Maybe it was cliche, but the oh-so-thrilling life you lived as a librarian of your local public library painted a rather ‘stay at home’ picture of you; and that is exactly how you wanted it. The whole reason you took this job opportunity was because the head librarian noticed you come in every other Wednesday for a new list of to-reads to rent and offered a position after she got to know you a bit better.

Had you had the choice, you’d stay cooped up in your house with a good book, a nice warm drink, a rainy day and peace and quiet for the rest of your life. But, of course, that was a fantasy. Your social life was barely breathing, with Halie-the insistent best friend behind you- being the center of your social solar system.

You were a prime recluse, you didn’t even keep in touch with your parents as often as you should since they were so utterly upset you were throwing so much ‘potential’ away when you decided to be a librarian instead of going into some out of this world career field.

You had Halie and Halie had connections with just about everyone ever. She was easy to adapt to personalities and was generally kind to anyone she meets unless they’re rude first. She was a prime example of a modern ‘dream girl’ that people had. Though, she was still your friend no matter who she is with anyone else.

Was that naive of you?

“Y/n, I’m telling you, you’ve gotta cooooome,” she whined. Sitting backward in her chair, leaning back and pulling on the back of the chair. You sighed, pushing a spine of a book into its rightful you had just mapped out. “Please,” she begged in a pathetically, high pitched voice.

“If I go, will you stop whining?” You asked with your back still towards her, but you could practically see the smile on her face with the small, over-dramatic gasp she let out. You almost immediately regretted your choice, and wished you could take it back. You knew Halie wouldn’t let it happen though. You’ve spoken and now her selective hearing will kick on and she wouldn’t hear you even if you changed your mind.

“So, you’re going?!” She screeched as you turned around and shushed her. She was in a library. With a few more accepting statements from you solidifying your attendance to her birthday, she left happily as you finished stocking your shelves in dread before sitting behind your check-out counter with the same dread- only 10x stronger.

You watched the time tick by on the computer screen at work, the watch around your wrist on the way home, the hanging clock on your living room wall and the alarm you set on your phone for 9 pm when you were set to get ready. Time passed far too fast for your liking- you couldn’t even squeeze in a nap to help the nerves.

Before you knew it, you were walking out of your home, locking the door behind you with the only acceptable club outfit you could think of as you made your way to Fantasia Dyed, texting Halie that you were dreadfully on the way.

-x-x-x-

“Hey, Kyun! Take ten, dude!” Changkyun, who had just stepped down off of the high perched stage covered in sweat ruffled his blond hair that clung to his forehead in strands. He nodded as he grabbed his bottle of water, slouching in a nearby domed-stool.

One of his ankle high, black platform boots propped up on the stool’s ring with the other on the ground. The white tank top he had personally cut off to end at his rib cage and expose his stomach drenched in spots of sweat. Black skinnies clinging to his toned legs and his fishnets showing loud and proud through the open knees of his jeans and wrapping around the perfection of his waist. Having left his faux fur coat in the employee lounge for the night.

His dark eyes scanned the floor level he was currently occupying the best he could from his seat at the juice bar- for the lameizoids who wanted something non-alcoholic at his club. He glanced at the wristwatch strapped onto the inside of his wrist and checked the time. It was only just past 10 as he smirked.

The night was still young.

From not too far off in a different area than he was, he heard a small commotion starting to murmur. From the looks of what he could see over his sips of water and his bangs hanging in his eyes as he flipped them annoyingly out of his way over and over, it may have been someone’s birthday. Guest after guest going into the same area with the same woman in stockings and a cocktail dress hugging and greeting them.

A VIP birthday reservation; that did ring a small bell somewhere in the overbooked mind of the club worker. Perhaps it would pay off if he did some of his work within their sights. Birthday crowds almost always paid off in terms of after work lip service and bonus pay.

Stepping his foot off the lower ring of the stool he had been comfortably sitting on, he stood as he set his bottle on the juice bar. The tender at the particular unpopular drink selection area took it and tucked it away under the bar where Changkyun always asked him to put it so no one tried to get creative with it.

Walking around the venue area, he strutted by the lower ground VIP booth surrounded by thick, velvet ropes. Whoever this birthday diva was, she sure went all out to keep her and her group uninterrupted. A lower level 10 person booth, a table full of booze and a secure perimeter to keep outsiders rightfully out of her hair. Just from the set up, she must’ve been some spoiled princess.

However, what really caught his gaze was one particular woman. A woman dressed in a tank top, a cheap looking fake leather jacket and dark jeans. Perhaps not ideal for Fantasia’s club etiquette and whatever she was sipping on in her clear glass certainly didn’t seem like any alcoholic beverage to his trained eye. His pierced brow ticked up as he walked fully by and the table of rambunctious party-goers left his sight around the wall.

“Must be a prude,” he murmured but somehow, he almost felt guilty when the words left his mouth. He couldn’t fathom at all why. It stalled him physically as he stopped in his tracks for just a moment before strutting further away from the booth to scope out a good area to work his magic.

The moment midnight hit Changkyun was being flagged over by the absolutely smashed table he had passed earlier that night. The VIP birthday booth had confidently called him over. As he moseyed his way over, with a few of his coworkers already there to entertain the group, he was greeted by some drunken man hanging off his shoulder.

Among the group of drunk or passed out party goers, there was the same woman from earlier who still seemed completely sober. Changkyun raised his eyebrow as he shook the man on his shoulder off as he stumbled around and clung to the next nearest bod. He walked over to your side and sat himself down beside you on the velvet booth.

Crossing his legs, he watched you flinch when he plopped himself down, his elbows rising to rest on the back of the booth, his hand hovering close to your face. He sure made himself comfortable. He had to admit though, as you sipped on yet another refill of something nonalcoholic, you were pretty easy going on the eyes.

“You sure don’t seem like you’re having any fun, lady,” he chided as he lifted one arm off the back of the booth to push his hair back out of his eyes for only the millionth time that evening. He heard you nervously chuckle beside him and something about the sound of it stirred pleasantly in his chest.

“Well, this isn’t exactly my scene,” you told him. Your voice was soft like Christmas bells, but it erupted in his ears, making the background of sounds and voices and bass all drown out. He was solely focused on your lips and the sound they produced when you spoke he couldn’t hear anything else.

“Not your scene, but here you sit in mine,” he teased as he smirked at you. You tapped the side of your glass that had become a slipping hazard from it’s condensation. Changkyun looked at the friends around you who seemed to be having the time of their young lives. “You’re friends seem to be enjoying themselves.”

“Well, they go out a lot. I really don’t like these kinds of places,” you told him before you looked at him with a slightly apologetic smile. “No offense.”

“Club scenes aren’t for everyone, I understand that. If you hate it so much, why did you come here?” He asked as you sighed, dipping your chin. He felt a small spark of panic rise in his throat as he saw you suddenly even more forlorn than you have been. Did he put that look on your face by asking your dumb questions?

He mentally halted himself, once again wondering why it affected him so much what you did and did not like or how you acted.

“It’s my best friend’s birthday so she pretty much begged me to come with her tonight,” you lifted your head and looked over to where she was, downing yet another shot. You’d have to remember to book a cab for her to go home- if she doesn’t go home with the staff member she keeps clinging to. “I probably won’t stay much longer since she pretty much forgot I’m even here,” you pouted.

Changkyun’s eyes swelled at the precious pout to your lips as you whined about being forgotten because you were sober and weren’t partying like an animal. What was wrong with him?

“Do you like coffee?” He suddenly blurted out. He couldn’t stop the words from forcing their way out of his mouth before his brain could functionally filter them or even stop them. He gulped when you turned to look at him in the eyes for the first time that night. Maybe it was the neon lights in the club or maybe it was the dim atmosphere that made them so enticing to gaze into, but he was locked in your gaze- unable to break away from you. His jaw nearly dropped open as he explored the color of them surrounded by the club's aura.

“Coffee?” You asked in clarification. He just clamped his teeth together before nodding once. “Well, I’m not the biggest coffee fan in the world, but I like teas’ and I can handle a frappe if I’m in the mood for it.”

“I get off at three,” he told you as he desperately tried to keep eye contact. “If you find the stomach to hang around another three hours, we can get some?” He pitched as his voice that was normally always confident- as it should be for his line of grade-a work- shook just slightly with the booming club bass.

Your eyes shifted when he put the offer out there, and he started to internally panic. Would you say no? Would you politely decline him and try and carry on like he never said a word? Or would you turn him down and leave? Then, it hit him. You were in a club; a club popular for sex work and Changkyun happened to lead that gaggle of workers. It’s pretty damn obvious you were assuming he had some ulterior motive. For once, he didn’t.

He dropped his elbow from the back of the booth as he turned towards you slightly, scooting forward to the edge of the booth seat.

“I don’t mean to hook up or anything,” he clarified, “I just want to get to you know, so I wanted to get coffee at an ungodly hour.” The hands he waved around to try and help convince you quickly settled onto his jean torn, and fishnet covered lap. “If you want to.”

You sat and considered his offer. It was Saturday, and the library was closed on Sundays so you could technically afford to be out later than you typically would. And a late night chat with someone other than your wasted party of friends did sound tempting. He seemed kind enough, even with his get up and the flashes of a performance you had glimpsed earlier with him on the lifted stage and poles. You should never judge a book by it’s cover, just because he seemed like someone who slept around all the time, didn’t mean he was a bad guy, right?

You smiled at him and his breath left him in one fell swoop. It was like your smile materialized into a pro-boxer and just gut punched him. And he loved it.

“A three am frappe sounds great,” you told him. He smiled back wider than he knew he could. He thanked you before he excused himself to go back to work. However, before he went back to the floor, he practically sprinted into the single employee bathroom and locked himself inside.

He slammed his back against the door as his knees wobbled and he grew weaker. His breath was staggered as his chest heaved in unsteady shudders. His fingertips shook and he had shivers running up his back from the memory of your eyes and that smile. He started chuckling to himself in the empty bathroom as he felt his cheeks flush.

God he felt so euphoric in the moment, it was practically erotic. Whatever was wrong with him, he started questioning if it was really wrong if it made him feel so good.

-x-x-x-

It was ten till three in the morning when Changkyun did one last check to make sure you hadn’t left yet. Almost your whole party was passed out, had gone home by cab or with someone else at this point. The club was nearly ready to shut down for the night as they started to chase people out. You saw him peek around into the VIP booth area as you smiled and waved to him reassuringly. That same tightness coiled in his chest as he rushed to the employee locker room.

A fellow pole dancer who was peeling off his skintight, laced finger-less gloves perked an eyebrow up at the rushing blond. He hadn’t seen the worker so eager to get out of there before.

“Some kind of big surprise waiting for you outside those doors or something, hot stuff?” He asked. Changkyun shook his head, too busy searching for his clutch behind his fur coat so he could meet up with you. Yanking on the furry sleeves that felt almost too warm all of a sudden, he snatched the no longer hidden clutch from his locker shelf and slammed it shut.

“Something better,” he breathed in promise to himself more than his coworker as he jogged out, his long coat bouncing off the back of his knees. He came out of the room, seeing you standing and in the company of a different worker who was still relatively new to Fantasia Dyed. A rookie at best and his eyes hardened as the man spoke to you.

Leaning far too close to you, breathing too close to you and smiling far too seductively at you. He was clearly looking for a bed to crash in, but Changkyun hated it. Loathed it even as he felt his lips pull back in a grimace mimicking a defensive mutt. He stomped towards you and inserted himself between the nuisance and yourself.

Pushing his palms against the worker’s chest, he harshly shoved him backwards and took a few steps back himself towards you. He felt like he was on fire, feeling you standing directly behind him. He thought he could feel your warmth radiating onto his back like sun rays and it almost made him sweat. He felt torn between feeling ecstatic that you were so close to him or completely pissed off at the man who stood shell shocked after being pushed away.

“She’s taken already,” Changkyun growled. He shocked even himself with his tone, something coiling further and beating in his chest so violently he swore he felt his chest jerk forward with each beat of his heart.

The coworker raised his hands. “Chill out, man. ‘Didn’t know she was yours.” Something ignited the coil in Changkyun’s chest and sent sparks in his mind at the man's words. His? Yes… that sounds exactly right.

It sounded blissfully perfect as the man walked off and the blond turned around to see you and properly escort you out of Fantasia Dyed. He watched your back as you left in front of him- ladies first- and he let a grin crawl across his face. Unaware of how his eyes looked as they burned into the silhouette of your body.

His.

Changkyun led you out of the club, but neither of you expected it to be raining at three o’clock in the morning. You gasped as you instinctively brought your hands up above your head. You were wearing makeup and if it got wet, it was all over. Changkyun was quick to rip the coat from his shoulders and sling it around you. It had no hood, but he placed the collar of it above your head as you grabbed the edges of it to pull it around your body.

He nearly gasped when his finger brushed your hand, handing off his coat before he was pulling his keys from his clutch and pushing buttons to unlock his car that was parked just around the corner on the side of the building. He reached around your shoulder and started directing you in the rain.

It was only when he sat you in his car, nice and dry, when he ran to get into the drivers sid, slam the door shut, start the car and crank the heat to get rid of the wet shivers you had due to the rain, did he realize he had just touched you again. Although his coat was under his arm, so were you as you ran through the rain. He had to contain yet another delightful shiver.

You shimmied the coat off your head to around your shoulders before you pulled it out from behind you and placed it on your lap as you pulled the seatbelt across your chest. You looked at Changkyun who was already looking at you, but flinched and started fidgeting with his wheel and knobs for the radio in his car to distract himself.

“I didn’t realize there was rain in the forecast this morning. I wouldn’ve have brought an umbrella.” You briefly blessed the idea that Changkyun asked you out because you had taken the bus and walked the rest of the trip to Fantasia, so getting home would have been a long walk considering the buses don’t run at three freakin’ am.

Changkyun cleared his throat, whipping his blond, wet bangs out of his face and onto the top of his head, clearing his forehead as he shifted out of park.

“So,” he started, “where do you want to go?” You tossed ideas around in your head and it was so early, hardly any place would be open except the occasional fast food place or gas station. Offering him the choice between an open, probably dead lobby for some fast food or grabbing a drink and hanging in the car in the rain, he was driving off to the closest food location.

As nice as it sounded being secluded in a car with coffee and the sound of rain, he wouldn't be able to look you in the eyes as you spoke as well.

Changkyun took you to the place he would often stop for some after work food before going home or meeting up with someone. Because he knew the manager so well (and because the manager was always in store by three to start preparing for the staff to come in at six) Changkyun was allowed an early entrance.

Even though you offered to get your own drink, Changkyun wasn’t allowing you to pay for anything since it was him who asked you out. Besides, it wasn’t exactly expensive to buy some caffeinated drinks- especially since he got a special discount too. The manager who always got him his food or drinks ready at this hour was shocked to see him with company this time around.

Time seemed to become truly nonexistent to Changkyun as soon as the both of you sat down at a back corner table- away from anyone's eyes from outside as to not cause the manager grief if someone should come demanding entrance because Changkyun was inside. You both talked about anything and everything he could think to ask you to get to know you better.

He learned that you were a librarian and that you didn’t go to school- forgetting about any further education after high school because you weren’t sure what you really wanted to do with your life. He found out bits and pieces about your family situations- gathering that you weren’t close and that you had no siblings to speak of. Your friends were small in number and that you weren’t really close to anyone aside from Halie- the proffered birthday girl at the club.

He mentally thanked Halie for begging you to come to the club, considering if you hadn’t Changkyun would have never laid eyes on you.

In turn, he shared what he could in return for your stories. He had been working in the sex world for a few years now, quickly and unfortunately getting roped into it after a nasty breakup when he had just turned 21. When he realized just how desirable he could be, he started working out and eating better to keep his physique so business kept rolling in for him. He was actually scouted by the assistant manager of Fantasia Dyed to work there- but it was the pay and benefits that really dragged him in. He didn’t dislike his career, so he had no reason to say no anyways.

At least with Fantasia Dyed, he had benefits to get himself into the doctor if one of his clients ever lied and gave him some gross sex disease- then of course he’d sue them into the ground for not following his work guidelines. He told you about why he pierced his eyebrow and even the stories behind the tattoos on his back.

Oddly enough, despite your absolute opposite backgrounds, you both spoke and got alone brilliantly. It was a balance of lifestyles and Changkyun basked in everything you had to say. You didn’t shun him or sneer at his life as a sex worker and maybe it was the lack of disgust and prejudiced that really flipped something in his head.

You did not judge him. You did not hate him. You laughed at whatever joke he pitched. You blushed at whatever lame pick up line he slid into conversation. You groaned playfully at his equally playful flirting. You were making him fall and he did- hook, line and heavy sinker.

He was absolutely, unbelievably head over heels for you and he felt like he was on fire.

You both talked and talked until you had noticed that the sky started to change color and the rain had stopped. The sun was rising and you were suddenly overly aware of how exhausted you really were. Changkyun saw you stifle a yawn and although it felt like his heartstrings were going to tear in his chest, he was quick to get up and offer you a ride home as the manager started to truly open the lobby for business as nearly all morning staff were present.

As you sat in the car with him, directing him on what roads to take to get to your home, he found himself memorizing every turn. When you told him to keep it slow and then pointed out your small little apartment duplex, he looked at every crevice his eyes could see from the car window. The neighborhood was somewhere small, but there was a small park just across the block so he expected it to be fairly busy during the day.

As he bid you farewell, and watched you get safely inside before driving away, he struggled to contain his breath. When he rolled into the apartment parking lot and up to his penthouse, he was quick to lock his door and lift his coat to his face.

It smelt different than usual. It had your shampoo’s scent embedded into its fake fur. It had the smell of your perfume and the smell of you inside of it. He fell asleep that morning until afternoon with his coat curled around him instead of a blanket. That feeling of euphoria chasing him until he finally fell asleep- only to have a set of specific dreams involving you in one of his reserved back rooms at Fantasia Dyed.

-x-x-x-

Over the course of the next week, Changkyun did his damnedest to keep his eyes on you at all times he possibly could. He’d wake up in the afternoon and find a way to enter the library you worked at and slip into a corner behind a bookshelf with a book to disguise his obvious staring of you. When you’d leave the desk to replace books, he’d move to avoid your eyes, when you’d help a guest with their books to check out, he’d growl when it was a man that you smiled at. When you got off work, he’d trial behind you just enough to stay unnoticed. He’d watch you get home every afternoon and one night he even put a small camera on one of the fake branches of your fake bush you hand sitting in a pot on your porch.

He’d sit in his car or in his penthouse and watch the feed on his phone if it buzzed with a notification of movement. If you were leaving, he’d jump into action to try and find out where you were going if it was an unusual time. He’d watch you go to the store to shop or into some food place for something to eat.

He’s even seen you meet up with Halie a few times and each time he did, he hated that wench more and more. That obviously spoiled princess wasn’t good enough to be around you, acting like a typical romance villain and obvious snake. You were smart, so he was curious as to why you trusted her so much. She was clearly brainwashing you and keeping you around as a tool.

Changkyun had a mental list of enemies and people he hated, and she was ranked number one among that list- along with all the men he saw speak or flirt with you. He wanted to get them away from you, throw them out of the picture and clean your mind of their filth.

During his work hours, and after even, he’d still get randoms to get into bed with him- but his mind would be filled with everything about you. The person underneath him would disappear and your face and body and voice would take hold in his brain like some sort of spell. He’d fuck into man or woman with such fervor he’d be getting calls from his manager that he was requested for service back to back.

He hit euphoria and erotic highs with you just in his mind, he nearly came undone when he thought how it would feel actually fucking you. He’d go home from work, from another sex session and he’d lay on his bed, on his couch, sit at his table or collapse in his doorway and wear himself thin with his hand at the thought of your touch instead of his or someone else.

He sat on the cold floor of his front door entrance, his leather, skintight pants unzipped and cock slipped through the hole in his boxers. His hand squeezed his length as his fingers rubbed and pinched and squeezed around the head and slit. It was so dry as his hand slid up and down painfully on his shaft. His hips bucked to meet his hands motions and his legs twitched in their perched, spread position. His stomach was tight as his opposite hand came to pinch and twist his nipples- his shirt discarded as he slid down the door upon his entry earlier.

It was so dry- it was hardly enjoyable- but it was painfully erotic. He couldn’t stop and the precum leaking from his cockhead wasn’t nearly enough for his hand to not pull on the delicate skin making him hiss. Taking his lip between his teeth and breathing so heavily he stuttered, he watched his hand abuse his cock.

The hand that played with his nipples shot down to hold his wrist as he finished himself off, cumming with the sound of your name spilling from his lips in lewd, breathless moans. He lay on the floor, slouched and exhausted as cum stuck, drying to his chest and pants.

He was so utterly, disgustingly, blissfully obsessed with you and he felt like he was losing his mind. His mind was filled to the brim with you, you, you. He spent every waking hour he could preparing. Yes, he had to make sure that everything would be perfect for when you’d finally come to him.

You deserved nothing short of perfection- and Changkyun would fuck anyone, get paid anything and obtain whatever it was you desired to make sure you got exactly that. However, it would take time- much to his dismay.

He knew he had to get ready before he could possibly have you. He started cleaning out a room he used as storage in his penthouse and got to work.

It was ten days after your three am date that Changkyun decided to play innocent and ‘bump’ into you at work one day. He was impatient and couldn’t wait any longer to speak to you again, to hear your voice directed at him again and not at someone else.

He entered the library confidently that day, dressed in blue jeans, low heeled boots and a tee that was stretched just a bit at the collar. His hair unstyled and glasses on his nose with his clutch under his arm. He didn’t want to go over the top in style, so he tried to match your neutral style of dress.

He took a moment to look at you before he took a breath and walked up to the desk, placing a fake smile of shock on his face when you looked up to see him. He nearly fell to his knees when he saw your eyes shine and your mouth split into a smile and wave at him. If he could, he would’ve ran the rest of the way to the desk instead of walked.

When he walked at the desk, he leaned and laid his arms in front of one another on the desktop, bending and crossing his ankles together and grinned at you.

“Well, fancy meeting you here, madam librarian,” he greeted, acting as if he hadn’t been here daily for the past week just to see you work.

“It’s been a little bit, it’s good to see you Changkyun,” you said and he felt himself shift sinfully. “I’d ask you why you’re here, but it’s a library, so,” you chuckled at yourself. Oh, how he missed the sound of that laugh. “Did you come looking for something specific?” You asked as he jut his lip out in thought.

“Not necessarily. I just felt like cracking open a book, and what better place to start looking? It's a pleasant surprise you work at this library. It’s close to where I live.” That was true, there were two other libraries in town and this one was the closest to him. You hummed at him. “Could you recommend something to me?” He grew giddy when you smiled widely and stood from your desk chair and started to walk around the desk, motioning for him to follow you.

As you asked him what he liked and disliked, leading him down the isles and scanning book after book, keeping small conversation he wished he could push you against a bookshelf and have his wicked way with you. He knew better, however; you needed to be taken care of in a specific set of ways and against a bookshelf wasn’t it- tempting as it may be.

“Here,” you told him as you spun around and placed a book in his hands. As he took it, he quirked a small, teasing smile as he looked at you as if you were playing a joke on him.

“Twilight? Really, Y/n?” In his hand sat the book that sprung up the cheesy, cliche and overall, not so great movies he watched with one of his old friends for gags one night in his teens- completely drunk he may add.

“Hey, don’t judge a book by it’s cover- or it’s movies. It’s better than you think.” You shoved the book closer to his chest. “Just give it a chance, please?” When you ask so adorably with your lip jutted out just enough for him to fantasize leaning down to bite into it with his teeth, he had no choice but to comply. He’d read this book cover to cover, backwards even had you asked. He’d do whatever you wished.

He spent the afternoon halfway reading at a table near the desk and halfway watching you work until your shift concluded. When you were packing up, he scrambled to get his clutch and mark the page he had to reread over and over again because he couldn’t concentrate and rushed up and over to your side.

“Are you finished for the day?” He asked although he already knew the answer. You nodded as he touched your arm, grabbing gently around your elbow. “Do you want to go on a date with me?” He asked as he saw your cheeks grew in the most vibrant color of rose.

“I, uh,” you cleared your throat and rubbed the back of your neck with your free arm. “I’m not dressed for a date though,” you pouted. Changkyun licked his lips, desperate not to let you get away from him just yet.

“Then, tomorrow,” he pitched, “when you’re free tomorrow we can go out.” Tomorrow was Wednesday, and he knew that you always left work early on Wednesdays. He watched you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear as you licked your lips before rolling them over your teeth and then opening your mouth.

“I can do tomorrow,” you muttered, face fully flushed with redness flooding into the tips of your ears. He released your arm with a giant smile. He flicked his bangs out of his face as he felt his glasses slip just a bit further down his nose. He reached into his clutch as he dug out his phone and handed it to you with the new contact screen up.

“Let’s swap numbers then, and we can work out everything through the phone.” You didn’t hesitate to place your number into his phone before sending yourself a text with ‘it’s changkyun’ attached to the message. You promptly added him in your contacts as well. Offering you a ride home, which you took, he dropped you off and when he walked into his penthouse that afternoon he pumped his fist into the air. As well as stared at the palm in which held your arm earlier, gazing at it as if he had just touched the blessed body of a holy messiah.

As he sat in his living room on the couch, he felt himself harden in his sweats he wore before changing into his work attire. He had actually called in to take the night off since he had to be well rested for his date tomorrow. This hand had touched you, touched your skin. He was sure it would feel magnificent on his cock too.

-x-x-x-

Tomorrow didn’t come fast enough and Changkyun was bounding out of bed at the ass crack of dawn to figure out what he was going to wear. How would he style his hair? Would he fill all his ear piercings or change the stud in his eyebrow to a spike? Which shoes would he wear: sneakers, heeled boots, sandals? He couldn’t waste another second in bed, he had far too much to plan for the day to worry about sleeping any more.

He dove for his phone the moment he heard the specific notification he set for you. He talked to you a bit and you both decided on a time to meet up. Meeting up at noon for lunch and then he’d take you to a movie and then he’d walk around with you window shopping, talking about the movie you both saw and then he’d take you for dinner. That’s what he wanted to happen.

He showed up at the meeting place half an hour early. Wearing a black, white spotted button up tucked into a pair of black jeans with a thin, white belt around his waist, he adjusted the buttons at the cuffs of his sleeves. A simple, thin silver chain to show off his neck as his shirt was unbuttoned just enough to show off his collar bones. The heels of his shoes clacked just enough on pavement or tile to let people know he was coming.

“Changkyun!” He heard from behind him. He raised himself off the bench had had been sitting cross-legged on, staring at his phone and debating on texting you. He quickly spotted you waving to him from among the crowd of people on the hunt for lunch before their work break ends.

His mouth nearly dropped when he saw you. Running up to him with the cutest, apparel on.

A summer dress of pale pink with small white dots that wrapped around your chest and fell loosely at the skirt to hit your thighs. The sleeves off shoulder and sheer all the way down your arm until it wrapped around your wrist in sheere frills. Black, thin straps to keep it all up. A pair of white sandals that wrapped around your foot and ankle with the smallest heel to keep you from twisting your ankle. Hair done in two little buns on either side of your head, but still kept some down with a black, stretchy choker around your neck.

The pink, circular satchel at your waist that hooked over your shoulder probably contained your phone, wallet and the pink gloss that covered your lips as you came to stop in front of him. You were like a flower as he gazed at you. You quickly lifted your wrist to check the thin watch you wore, making sure you weren’t late. You weren’t.

“I hope you weren’t waiting here too long for me,” you giggled and he felt his heart try to burst from his chest. He shook off his stupor the best he could in front of you before he smiled and quickly denied it.

“I haven’t been here long,” he assured. You made a small jest about the both of you wearing something with small polka dots on it and he felt like he was going to fall to his knees at your noticing his attire and complimenting it. You were far too precious.

Throughout the day, he found out that you weren’t only exceptionally kind, but you were probably the biggest pushover he’s ever met. You’d follow after him like a little lost duckling and whatever he recommended doing, wherever he wanted to go, you were quick to agree and comply. With your ease of compliance, he was able to mentally go through the check list of plans he had set with little to no difficulty.

It was miraculous how easily you obeyed him.

Changkyun made note of everything your eyes lingered on, everything your fingers brushed, everything you expressed just the slightest interest in- he would remember. Changkyun wanted to spoil you, wanted to give you everything you desired- everything you deserved. You were an angel walking, cursed upon the earth and nothing anyone could say would change his mind about it.

The entire time you were out with Changkyun that day, you were smiling at him as he hung onto every one of your words. Every interest, every detail, every idea or opinion you had- he grabbed it and held it deep inside his chest.

It was coming close to around ten that night when he was finally getting around to dropping you back home, as he could see the exhaustion in your eyes and the slowness in your steps. He had half a mind to just drive you back to his home, but he couldn’t- not yet.

He walked you to your door as he bid you a final goodnight and as you unlocked your door and pushed it open just a crack, you turned back to him and smiled. He froze when he felt your fingers on his cheek before you stood to your toes and kissed his cheek. You rushed inside before he could say anything and before you could regret it.

The blond sat dazed and only managed to drive a block away before he pulled into a parking lot of a closed, daytime store. His cheeks were flushed, his skin burned and his breath was staggered. He could still feel the feeling of your lips on his cheek and that shiver of delight attacked his spine and spread until he was finishing himself off in the front seat of his car- the sound of your name on his lips over and over again as his fingers brushed his cheek trying to feel the essence of you in his skin.

-x-x-x-

Changkyun had the privilege of taking you out on two more dates over the course of the last two weeks (along with his library trips to visit you) and it was today, when he once again frequented the library- where he noticed you weren’t in your usual high spirits. He pulled you aside on your break and into a back corner library table as he made you spill your guts on what could be plaguing your mind.

It took all of his will power to not scream when you told him you had been being harassed by some library guest who always comes in. He always wants the same book renewed over and over and he always tried to pry your number out of you. Even after clearly telling him no and explaining to you that you were traveling among the silver lining of a relationship with Changkyun- he was persistent. It came to the point you were looking over your shoulder and even jogging to and from work.

“So, he’s stalking you?” Changkyun clarified, as you nodded weakly. He grit his teeth, his jaw tightening. Didn’t other people know that his woman was off limits, especially when it came to following you around? He kept you under his watchful eye, but these men were after something far worse and in his sick, demented mind- they were the offender and they were a disease.

Changkyun reached across the table and gently held your hand, trying to convey that he knew that you were scared and that he’d do anything to keep you safe. He could see the tears glisten around your eyes and a taboo sense of arousal shot in his stomach at seeing your so utterly weak and vulnerable.

He spent the remainder of the time with you on your break as he consoled and shushed you as he promised that he’d stay until you got off and when you did, he’d take you home. You were quick to agree.

That afternoon you rushed to Changkyun’s side and were discreet to point out the man who was hanging outside the library entrance with his nose in his phone. According to you, that was the perpetrator and source of your fear. You clung to Changkyun as he gently wrapped his arm around your shoulders and held you to his chest, walking out with you.

When he dropped you off and kissed the top of your head as he sent you inside, the gentle eyes he had been gazing at you with disappeared as you shut the door and he heard it harshly lock.

Turning around and stuffing his hands inside the pockets of his jeans, he waltzed back towards his car, but never got into it. His dark shirt allowed him to dip below the hood of his car as he started walking around in the shadows the street lights created. He stood behind a post as he watched the figure move from the side of the building to the front porch where he crouched below the windows.

You had pulled the curtains and shut the blinds just as he had reminded you to as he was quick to walk up behind the stalker and hook his arm under the man’s chin. The gasp that was pulled from the man was cut off as Changkyun’s arm tightened around his neck and he started to quickly drag the man backward and away from your doorstep.

The blond shoved the man into the backseat of his car, slamming the door as he quickly rushed to get into the driver's seat. Not bothering with his seatbelt, he started the car with tangible rage and started off.

“What the fuck, man!” The man from his backseat scowled as Changkyun only reached into his center console and pulled out a small, black handheld device, pressing the button on the side of it as it zapped. A stungun. The man in the back hissed as he instinctively shut up.

Changkyun’s aggressive driving made the man in the backseat fall back and forth along the seats before he finally gripped the passenger chair to steady himself. Changkyun drove and drove until he was well outside of city limits before he stopped and parked his car. He peered up into the rear-view mirror, seeing the man behind him look around anxiously.

“Get out,” the blond ordered as he stepped out of his car. The man didn’t move, too shocked to process his words and was then yanked out by his shirt clad shoulder when he didn’t listen quick enough for Changkyun’s liking. The club worker threw the man on the ground as he rolled to his back just quick enough for Changkyun to stand over him. His feet on either side of his hips, a glimmer in his eyes that was menacing to witness- even in the darkness of night.

The man on the ground shuddered as he weakly tried to crawl backward on his elbows. His heels kicked and dug into the ground, threatening to pull his shoe off, as he tried to get away from the look in the blond’s eyes.

Changkyun’s foot came to the center of the man’s chest as he stomped, pushing him flat onto the ground. He knelt, coming closer to him as he gripped the collar of his shirt. Changkyun eyed him around- he certainly wasn’t a looker that's for damn sure.

“You really thought you had a chance?” He asked lowly, almost in a growl. “I’ll offer you a bit of last moment advice for perhaps your next life,” he got closer to the man’s ear, before telling him something. “Stay away from things that don’t belong to you,” he seethed.

Over the course of the next few days, Changkyun was delighted to see you smiling again when you told him that the man who had been stalking you seemed to finally leave you alone.

He made sure that a week later when he saw missing person posters out in the streets, your eyes stayed off of them.

-x-x-x-

After a month of dates, library visits, phone calls and good morning and good night texts, Changkyun was finally- finally- able to call you his girlfriend. He was currently out with you at some cafe where you wanted to stop and get something to drink and he decided to walk in and sit down with you for a while.

You were on your phone, tapping away before placing it down and repeating. You were obviously talking with someone on the other end of your text thread, which already ground his gears, but the twisted brow on your face made him more curious than not. Someone was upsetting you and he already knew how to deal with someone who upset you.

“Hey,” he called, gaining your attention. You looked at him, placing your phone back down. “Who’re you talking to, Sweetness?”

“Oh, just to Halie,” you told him. The name of your ‘best friend’ making his skin itch. That fake fraud of a friend couldn’t even leave you alone while you were out with him? The audacity of the woman made him jittery. His knee began to bounce as he pressed further.

“Are you two fighting? You look annoyed.”

You sighed, solidifying that she was indeed bothering you. “She’s mad that I’m out on a date,” you grumbled. Changkyun cocked his head.

“Excuse me?” His resentment slipped out just a small fraction as he wanted to know immediately what this witch was putting into your precious little head. “She’s mad at you for what?”

You groaned again, placing your elbow on the table and your chin in your palm, you huffed. “I think she’s just upset that I have a boyfriend before she does since she knows more people.” The tone in your voice made your annoyance apparent to Changkyun who had spent the last month of his life learning every little quirk in your day to day life- including your vocal tone. “She’s got a whole list of friends and while I have just enough to count on one hand, she's mad about my relationship.”

Changkyun watched you toil the situation around in your head, trying to justify her words and actions, but he couldn’t let you do that. This was a prime opportunity. The perfect time to finally get that wench out of the picture and away from you.

He reached across the table where he sat in front of you, careful not to knock into your drink.

“Darling,” he cooed, gaining your teary, stress filled eyes, “maybe you shouldn’t be talking to her.” He watched your brow quirk and turn inwards at his suggestion. He readjusted his grip on your hand, holding it tightly. “If she’s so angry about something like us, then maybe you should go on a little break at least.”

“But-”

“I know she’s your friend,” he fought back before you could try and save Halie’s snake skin, “but every time you talk about her with me, it’s all things that stress you out or things she’s done that make you uncomfortable.” He vividly remembers the club night of her birthday. “Pressuring you into clubbing, then not paying attention to you at all even though you weren’t enjoying yourself. Never talking to you unless she needs something or someone to bother. Now, she’s angry because you’re happy with me? She’s just using you, Sweetheart.”

“I know she seems bad, but-”

“Y/n,” he breathed in a small, soft scolding tone. “You can’t keep defending her and giving her what she wants. She has to learn, one way or the other.” He watched your lips turn into a pout as he ran his thumb over your knuckles and brought your hand up to kiss the back of it. “I just want the best for you, you know that.”

He bit back a victorious smirk when you told him that you’d take his suggestion and advice to heart and think about it. A little more nudging and you’d drop Halie like a hat. He just had to wait until she brought something else up again that put a target on her back.

It didn’t take but three days for that to occur.

You were home, off on a Sunday, just sitting in your home, on the phone with Changkyun while he just woke up from resting since he had work at Fantasia Dyed that evening. He had some private show booked up so he couldn’t afford to flake out either. He needed the cash for his personal project he always teased, and this coming party was sure to deliver.

You both were chatting happily until you were cut shut but someone pounding on your door. You told Changkyun to hold on a moment as you set your phone down on the arm of your couch and went to the door. Changkyun on the other hand went and immediately opened the camera footage of your front door he had from that camera in your bush.

He growled and jumped out of bed when he saw the back of Halie in the frame. Her arms were crossed and her leg was bouncing as she slouched. When you opened the door, her crossed arms flared out and she was clearly shouting at you from the hiking of her shoulders and the fact that he could hear her obnoxious voice through the call line.

He jumped out of bed. Nothing but sweats on as he threw on a jacket, leaving his chest naked before he was out of his penthouse, racing down the stairs and in his car on the way to your home. He kept the call live- as much as he didn’t want to hear her voice- so he could hear the venom she spat at you as he worked her way inside. Stomping around and screaming like the bitch she was.

When he showed up to your home and jumped out of the car, he finally hung the call up as he stormed inside, knowing the door was unlocked from Halie’s tempertatrum. When he came in, he saw you against the wall with your ‘best friend’ not a foot away from you still screaming at you like you were deaf.

He worked his way over before he was grabbing Halie’s shoulder, shoving her away and placing himself in front of you, walking back into your space until he felt your hands push on his shoulders. He glared at the party animal blonde in front of him.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He seethed as she seemed taken aback by his language towards her- a lady.

“Excuse me?” She spat.

“I suggest you leave, or else I’ll make you leave.”

“You can’t make me do anything. This isn’t your home either. I’m just talking to, Y/n.” Changkyun stepped away from you, turning the woman around by her shoulders and started pushing her.

“Yeah? And you’re done now. Get out.” He told her, shoving her out the doorway once he worked her through the front room. Before she could fight back, he got close to her ear and told her one more thing before shutting the door in her face and locking. “Stay away, or I’ll make you.” The look in his eyes, the crazed dangerous gleam, made his threat very, very real.

When he turned back around, he saw you on the ground, curled up as you cried. He rushed to your side, rubbing your back and trying to get you to lift your head to look at him. He cooed when he saw your swollen eyes and fat tears rolling down your cheeks.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m here,” he shushed as you just wordlessly nodded with choked hiccups and sputters. You were seriously an ugly crier, but what could you do? Your best friend broke your heart.

Changkyun shifted to hold you to his bare, jacket clad chest as you cried and he shushed you.

“Don’t worry. You don’t need anyone else. I’ll always be here.” He promised.

-x-x-x-

All it took was one more month, and everything was finally falling into place for Changkyun. Halie had officially left your side, with one or two more scraps between him and her before she finally called it quits. And with the queen bee of your circle gone, the rest quickly fell apart and you were left with no one but Changkyun- as you should be.

He was in his extra bedroom, setting up his project more when his phone rang. He jumped to it, knowing it was you calling after you got done with your shift at the library. He had told you to call him when you had the chance, since he wanted you to come somewhere tonight.

“Hello, darling,” he purred into the phone, hearing you slightly chuckle on the other line. “Did work go well? No annoyances?” He asked and he knew that you’d tell him about the computers or the receipt machine or the squeaky wheel on the return cart; but you never knew that he really meant to know if you were being bothered by any other man again. “Well, if your evening is cleared up, why not swing on by Fantasia tonight?”

He heard you pause on the other side of the phone call as he was walking out of the room, shutting the door softly behind him. It was almost perfect.

“I’m not sure,” you drawled.

“I’m working the floor tonight, bar-tending for staff out sick. You can sit at the bar with me.” Your hesitation was loud and clear for him as he continued. “I’d really appreciate the company, but if you’d rather not-” he quickly heard you try and reconcile and save the conversation but agreeing to his proposal. You were a sucker for guilt trips. “Really?” He asked in faux concern as he grinned, throwing himself back across the length of his couch.

“Yeah. I’ll come, just promise that you’ll stay at the bar.”

“I’ll do my best. If I have to leave, just hide in the bathroom until I’m back,” ‘so that you won’t be in contact with anyone other than me’, he added silently in his head. You agreed and he said a quick goodbye before he hung up the call. He sat up and peered down his hall, picturing the door of his extra room. Soon, you’d be with him always.

It was an hour after his shift started and he had just served yet another waiting patron when he felt his phone buzz in the back pocket of his pants. He wore a mesh shirt at the bar that showed off his torso. His tattoo in the middle of his back was on display when he turned around. His eyebrow piercing was a black ring this evening and he wore silver hoops in his earlobes. His knee high, buckle punk boots lifting him three inches higher into the air.

‘I’m here, where do I go?’ Your text read with a nervous emoji beside it. He told you the location of the mini side stage bar and soon your head popped out from among the mass of alcohol driver party goers. As you got to the bar and slid into a stool in front of him, he leaned on the counter and whistled at you.

“Well, look who dressed up for me tonight?” He asked, a purr in his voice as your cheeks flushed. He recognized this get up, it was a piece he picked out for you one night. It wasn’t something he thought you’d ever wear out, since you were rather reserved, but he thought you deserved it anyway.

It wasn’t anything fancy, but even a simple, black cocktail dress with lace running up the sides of it and looping around your neck and back looked good when placed on someone as breathtaking as yourself to Changkyun’s eyes. He could faintly hear you clicking your heels together underneath you as they were hooked on the metal foot ring of the stool. The bracelet and earrings were a nice touch.

“I thought it was appropriate since you bought it for me,” you muttered, unable to look at him in the eyes. He chuckled since it wasn’t hard to guess why. His entire chest was on display to see with only lines of fabric separating his entire torso from being nude. He halfway wished he had gotten his nipples pierced when he was on the fence about it months ago just to see how you’d react to that.

He stood back up and turned his back and he could feel your eyes scan the tattoo that rested between his shoulders. Large and taking up a good portion of real estate on his skin. He smirked as he felt you stare, a shiver wracking up his spine just as it always did with you. When he turned around, he offered you a glass of water he had so neatly prepared for you.

“I know you don’t drink, sweetheart,” he told you as you graciously thanked him for the drink. Throughout the course of his shift, he was tending to people left and right. His charisma between patrons and ways of addressing person to person just by acknowledging how they seemed to looked amazed you.

You could never hope to be the people person he is. He was bold enough to get on stage, strip and get behind closed doors for his way of life. He was fearless in your eyes and you admired him for it. He had told you that he would stop sleeping around for money since he was in a relationship with you now, but you just told him it was alright.

You trusted him, and although the idea of him sleeping around did grind under your skin like ice and salt, you knew that was his job. He worked in this industry- the sex industry- so that was the end of it. He had started to dwindle down in client numbers though, never wanting to have the sex he was getting paid for last too long.

The clock struck midnight and Changkyun turned back to you the moment he had an opening to. He leaned over the counter and towards you again, just so he could talk to you clearly over the loud bass and whistling from the stage work.

“What do you say I make a drink for you?” He offered. You looked at your half empty glass of water he had refilled at least three times now. “Just one, I promise. It’ll be on me too. I just want my girlfriend to taste some of my work since I don’t get to work the bar often.”

“Well, when you say it like that,” you whined as he just chuckled and stood up, turning his back and started mixing. It was three minutes later when he was sliding a cocktail glass gently towards you. Inside sat a liquid of pink that resembled the color of pink lemonade, but you knew whatever was inside that wasn’t lemonade. “Voilà,” he told you. “That’s something new I’m trying out. You get to be the first to try it.”

His smile looked innocent enough to your eyes and as you started taking sips of it with a smile and a nod; however, you missed a sinister glint in his eyes. You complimented him on it and found yourself sipping on the drink, making it last until well after one since you didn’t want to have him make another. It was half after when Changkyun noticed you starting to sway in your stool seat.

He placed the towel he had in his hands on the bar before he rounded the bar to your side.

“Darling, come with me. You look like you’re about to pass out,” he chuckled. You couldn’t get your mouth to move or your voice to work as your mind was just as fuzzy as your eyesight. Were you really that much of a light weight? He took you back into one of his private rooms before he placed you on the bed. He sat beside you, brushing your hair from your face and running his fingers around your face, skin and shoulders down your arm. “Sleep. I'll come get you later,” he told you softly- the totally opposite tone of the smirk on his face.

You were in and out of it for the duration of Changkyun picking you up from the bed you vaguely remember placing you on. He picked you up and took you out of the room. The bass of the club had stopped and you only heard him speaking briefly with coworkers before he loaded you into his car.

It felt like he was taking you home as he removed you from the car again and heard the jingles of keys before a door was opened. You only remembered being placed in a bed before you felt him kiss your forehead and you were out for good.

You groaned as you were finally waking up. Your head hurt and you felt like your throat had sandpaper in it. You coughed lightly as you reached your hand up to rub your throat, but something was around your neck.

Feeling around, it felt like a collar or something. It was thick and leather, a small loop in the front of it. You also thought you felt tags near the loop that jangled. Groaning and moving among the mattress you realized that it was pitch black in the room. You were sure your eyes were open, but you couldn’t see a thing.

Sitting up, you felt around your body. Your cocktail dress wasn’t on you instead it felt like a nightgown was. Did you own nightgowns? IT feel off your shoulders to wrap around your chest and biceps with frills as it bunched around your thighs on the mattress.

Your head pounded as you rubbed your eyes. You moved to try and crawl from the bed when you felt something tug on your ankle. Feeling around, whatever was on your ankle was thick, cold and hard. At first you thought it was some anklet, but then you felt something protrude from the cold metal.

Pulling and tracing your fingers around it, you started to panic. It felt like a chain.

You got off the bed you were convinced wasn’t yours as you walked around like some cheap, budget-movie zombie in the dark room. You found a dresser first. Feeling around, you felt the knobs of the four drawers and on top it had what felt like boxes. Reaching further, you found the dresser had a mirror attached to the back of it.

Moving around in the opposite direction, you reached a closet door. Pull it open, you feel all sorts of soft fabric. Silks, satin, fur, cotton, linen- you felt all sorts of clothing.

You looked around the dark room in panic before you trusted your voice.

“Changkyun,” you called softly. You were going to call him again, but stopped short as you stepped on the cold chain that was around your foot. You screamed as you fell backward and before long, you heard someone padding up to the room and the door swung open.

You scrambled back, covering your face with your arms as you soon felt the foot of the bed push against your back, keeping you from going back any further.

“Sweetness, are you awake already?” Your arms that were up slowly lowered as you looked to the open doorway. It was so bright outside of the dark room, you had to squint from the stark contrast. Whoever was in the doorway sounded just like Changkyun, but- it couldn’t be. He walked closer to you. “Darling, can you talk?” His hand came to your throat, touching it with the pad of his fingers above the collar around your neck. “Are you thirsty? It has been half a day.”

You were speechless as Changkyun stood up from in front of you before he walked out of the room. You moved to your knees and looked around. The dresser and closet you found were indeed what you thought.

The bed was a canopy bed. A white frame with pink fabric hanging from it. The covers were red and white with a plethora of pillows at the head of the mattress. There was a rack of four wood dowels by the bedroom door, and three of them a different kind of leash, and the fourth had a pair of handcuffs.

The one window in the room was covered with black out curtains- you couldn’t tell if it was daytime or not outside right now.

Looking down now that you had the light from outside the room, you indeed did have a shackled ankle. You began to pull at it, the cold metal yanking around your skin- pinching and shafting it painfully. You hissed as your yanking was stopped by Changkyun shouting.

“Don’t pull on that!” He cried, dropping to your side to pull your hands from your shackle. “I need to put felt and fur on it before you can move around in it safely. It’ll ruin your skin, but bear with it for now.”

“Changkyun, what?” You squeaked. He smiled, but it was twisted in some sort of menacing light. Maybe it was the light from behind him into the dark room that made him look sinister. You felt yourself begin to tremble.

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head,” he told you, patting your head and tucking your hair behind your ear. “Changkyun will take care of everything. I told you to remember?” He caressed your hair, tracing his finger down your face and under your chin. He then moved to hook his finger through the hoop in your collar. “I told you, you don’t need anyone else. I’m all that you need. You are the princess, and this is your tower.” He flicked at the tags on your collar, one labeled ‘Princess’ and the other engraved with his initials.

He then reached to his side to the discarded glass of water he went to get for you earlier for your throat. He gently gripped around your neck and used the back of his hand to tilt your chin up.

The mixing of emotions in your eyes made him shiver and when you blinked out a small tear he gently moved to place his lips over it. The salty taste made him groan as he leaned back and kissed your nose to see your eyes glossy. He smiled at you as he brought the glass to your lips.

“Drink up, Princess.”

a/n: i’ve never ever written a yandere fic before in my life, and as my first try- i rly dont think i did all that bad LOL. Let me know what you think bc it’s very rare I post Monsta X fic content and I need to know if you guys are still into it ;n; (especially with Wonho’s debut days away and a fic for him in progress LOL)

#im changkyun #changkyun #monsta x #mx #changkyun x reader #i.m.#i.m. x reader #yandere!changkyun #yandere #yandere!changkyun x reader #changkyun x reader au #yandere au #changkyun fic #changkyun fanfic #changkyun fanfiction #tw

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kumeko · 3 years

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A/N: For the ‘A Lost Ballroom of Gold’ fe3h rarepair zine! I got partnered with the amazing MadamPringle who made the most BEAUTIFUL PIECE to go with this. It’s a masterpiece. Go look at it.

Summary: Lysithea sighed as she stood in the empty ballroom. Once more, her illness had kept her from actually staying for the full thing. Once more, she’d had to retire early. Luckily, Lorenz knew just how to make her feel better. He had saved the last dance for her, after all.

…

The ballroom was quiet. Lysithea stood stock still in the hallway, listening to the quiet murmurs of the servers, the clatter of dishes, the soft strumming of instruments. All of which she’d expected, but there weren’t any of the other accompanying sounds. No matter how hard she strained her ears, she couldn’t hear the swishing of a hundred ball-gowns, the rhythmic steps of dancers, or the gossiping nobles. Especially the gossiping nobles. Their voices were impossible to ignore, no matter how many doors she’d closed and how deep in her blankets she buried herself.

They’d all been present hours ago, when she’d taken leave for a short rest. Lorenz had kissed her cheek, telling her to go, that it was fine that she had once again had abandoned him to the wolves. It was his territory, after all, and he was as fluent in their meaningless buzzing as she was with her research.

What she had intended to be only a short, ten minutes nap had clearly ended up much longer. The guests had left. It was the only reasonable explanation. Lysithea glanced at the mask dangling off her right hand, its purple ribbons brushing against her silken dress. There was no point in putting it back on if no one was still around.

Sighing, she quietly trotted toward the central staircase. Despite Hilda’s many, many lessons, she still couldn’t move as gracefully as she wanted, and maybe it was a good thing the ball was over. Her dancing was lacking in many places and while Lorenz insisted he found it charming, she knew the rumours that ran amok every time she went out in public.

If it were directed at her, she wouldn’t mind, but at him…

Lysithea snorted. She’d grown soft in the past few years. To think there’d be a day when she actually cared what the nobility thought.

As she descended the staircase, the view before her confirmed what she’d already known. Most of the small tables were gone now, stored away until the next ball. The long table filled with tasty morsels and sugary sweets was empty, the butlers carefully folding its lilac cloth.

Only the musicians were still seated on the stage, their instruments out as they softly played a ballad. No doubt they were waiting for their payment before packing up. Maybe she could handle that, if only to make up for everything else Lorenz had covered in her stead.

Quietly, she crossed the ballroom and headed toward the balcony. A cool breeze hit her bare arms soon as she stepped out and despite herself, she shivered. It was a mild relief after weeks of summer heat, and she rubbed her arms as she moved toward the railing. The Gloucester lands sprawled before her. When she’d first arrived, she’d found the castle lands too expansive.

They still were, but she felt more fond than annoyed when she took in the candle-lit gardens. A little further out, she could just make out the lanterns of carriages as their guests travelled home, like small fireflies flitting in the dark. Leaning against the railing, she rested her chin on her clasped hands she watched the steady stream.

A silken cloth landed on her shoulders, disturbing her musing. Lysithea looked up to find Lorenz smiling tenderly down at her. For once his hair didn’t block her view of his face, all pinned up and back as it were. However, he still wore his mask, though the delicate velvet couldn’t hide the emotions shining through his eyes. “Cold, my love?”

“No,” she mumbled, feeling hot under his stare. No matter how often he used pet names and showed his affection, she wasn’t sure if she could ever get used to it. Her ears burned from something as simple as this; it was a good thing no one else was around. Lysithea drew the coat around her tighter anyways, breathing in the rose-water scent that penetrated all of his clothes. “But thanks.”

“Say nothing of it.” His smile grew wider. It was ridiculously easy to make him happy. “Are you feeling better now?”

“Much,” she reluctantly admitted. When he wrapped an arm around her shoulder, pulling her close, she leaned into him. They were alone, she could allow herself this weakness. “I needed the rest. I’m sorry I had to leave you like that.”

“There is no need for apologies.” Lorenz pressed a chaste kiss on her head and she shivered at the touch, at the memories of other, more heated kisses. “Besides, that was as much for me as it was for you. I am just glad that you have recovered.”

There he went again, shrugging off this as though this was nothing, as though this had only happened tonight and not on a regular basis. For all of his fancy words and lofty ideals, he was surprisingly humble when it came to matters like these. Irritated, Lysithea bit her cheek as she looked up at him. “Lorenz.”

“Yes, love?” He smiled innocently at her.

It was hard, sometimes, to argue with him when he looked at her like that: full of adoration, as though her company was all that he needed. It left her feeling unsettled, as though her heart was too full. She had to look over his shoulder to keep talking. “It’s not just tonight. I’ve left you alone at these functions more often than not. I’m…” Lysithea sighed. Removing her second crest wasn’t exactly what she’d thought it’d be—some days, she felt even frailer than she had before the operation. “I thought I’d be stronger by now.”

“Nonsense.” Despite his stern tone, his expression was still one of warmth. “You are one of the strongest people I know. You have argued with diplomats and nobles without backing down. There is nothing wrong with needing a break. It is healthy.”

Healthy.

She should ignore that part of the sentence, focus on his praise instead. It was a warm, summer night, they’d just had a ball, and there was no need to drag in an inconsequential matter. Yet, all she could hear were the echoes of past arguments, all she could see were the nights he spent burning the midnight oil.

There was a reason Lysithea never worked on the more delicate aspects of diplomacy.

“Healthy? You want to talk to me about healthy?” Turning in his arms, she reached up to tug the ribbons holding his mask up, careful to avoid the pins keeping his hair together. This was a serious discussion and she needed to see him properly.

As the mask fell in her hands, he stared at her blankly. His ears were pink from where her hands brushed them. “Lysithea?” Lorenz asked, bemused.

That was much better. She could see his expressions more clearly now. Pulling out of his grasp, she crossed her arms and frowned. “How long did you spend organizing this ball?”

Lorenz’s smile dropped a notch, his expression forlorn as he awkwardly dropped his hands. “That…I spent as long as was needed.”

“And how many nights did you crawl into bed after midnight?” She scowled as he tried to sidestep the issue. “That is not healthy.”

Lorenz’s brow knit as he finally started treating this seriously. “If that is the case, then I must insist you do not spend your nights in the library. You will strain your eyes if you continue to read by candlelight.”

“What?” Lysithea gaped, her jaw dropping. Perhaps it was a good thing that even the staff were gone by now: she didn’t have to worry about lowering her voice. “You are the one with a secret pair of spectacles.”

“That…” Lorenz flinched, his eyes wide with surprise. “Ignatz.”

“Doesn’t matter who told me.” She rested her hands on her hips. “You spend too much time on your paperwork—don’t think I haven’t noticed the bags under your eyes. You don’t even sleep some days!”

“When you were sick, you still insisted on reading over my policies.” he pointed out, his normally placid voice rising to match hers. “Despite the doctor’s orders—”

Lorenz cut himself off, looking away. She cocked her head, not sure how to respond. “Lorenz?”

After a moment, he chuckled, brushing back a stray hair. His cheeks were a soft red as he quietly admitted, “It’s amazing how much more I can love you, Lysithea.”

Immediately, she flushed, her mouth opening and closing like a goldfish’s. She would never understand how he was able to say those things so easily, the words just rolling off his tongue like a pleasantry. Pressing her cold hands against her cheek in a futile attempt to fight her blush, she squeaked, “What does that have to do with anything?”

God, it was hard to sound dignified when her body refused to cooperate. Her skin burned as she covered her mouth, humiliated.

“Everything.” His eyes crinkled as he laughed, gently prying her hand off her mouth. “Look at us, arguing about each other’s safety. Neither of us listening to our own advice.”

“That’s…” Lysithea stared at his fingers, unable to refute his point. They were both as stubborn as it came, ignoring their own follies for the other’s. “Do as I say, not as I do? When you put it like that…I guess it’s no wonder we keep having this same argument over and over.”

Lorenz nodded, his shoulders still shaking with amusement. “We are a pair of hypocrites.”

“I wouldn’t go that far…but, yes.” She sighed. They’d gone far off track from what she’d wanted to say in the first place. Gently, she interlaced their fingers, ignoring his sharp intake of breath at the action. A shudder ran up his arm and her eyes followed it up till she was looking at his bright red face. “I wasn’t planning to argue tonight. Like I was saying before, thank you.”

Lorenz swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing as the blush spread down his neck. She was glad he reacted as badly as she did to physical affection; unlike with his silver tongue, it felt like they had even-footing here.

“Whatever the reason, I keep leaving you alone for these balls. As silly as they are, I don’t mind them that much when you’re there,” Lysithea explained honestly, squeezing his hand. She kept her eyes trained on his. “I know how useful these are politically…one day…I’ll help you with them.”

“Lysithea…” Lorenz’s smile was smaller now, but it felt more real too. “I…”

It was suddenly too much—his expression, her words, everything. God, had she really said all that? Embarrassed, she let go and stepped back. “Well…” She cleared her throat. “We should pay the musicians and let them go.”

As she turned around, Lorenz’s hand wrapped around her wrist, tugging her to a stop. Still too mortified to look at him, she mumbled, “What?”

“There’s one last thing I need them to do before they leave,” Lorenz replied.

“One more?” Confused, she looked up at him. His mask was back on now—when had he taken that back?

“Yes.” He let go of her wrist. Bowing forward slightly, he held out a hand. “I did promise you the last dance, remember?”

“But—everyone’s gone,” she replied incredulously.

“Then it’s a private dance.” He reached up, tenderly tugging one of her locks free, curling it loosely around a finger. She breathed in sharply as he pulled it to his lips, pressing a kiss to her white strands. Lorenz asked once more, “Shall we, my love?”

Heart in her throat, she shyly nodded. When he held up her mask, she turned around, closing her eyes as he pressed the soft fabric to her face and gently tied it in place. Her skirt twirled as she turned around and took his hand. “I’ll try not to step on your foot,” she mumbled as he directed them back into the ballroom.

“I do not mind if you do,” he replied easily, signalling to the musicians to start playing a slow waltz. His right hand slid around her waist, pressing her close as they swayed through the hall. “I love how you dance. It’s charming.”

“It’s not,” she hotly retorted, resisting the urge to hide and bury her face in his chest. It was only the two of them now, the floor cleared of everyone and everything else. Candles lit the hall, bathing them in a warm gold as they stepped in and out of the candelabras’ and chandeliers’ glow.

In his arms, she felt oddly graceful as he guided her through the steps. The entire time, he kept a confident grip on her hand, never letting it go for more than a second as she pivoted around him. As they stepped in and out of shadows, spinning further and further away from the musicians, the moon was their only witness. For once, there were no guests watching. For once, the staff wasn’t in the room. It was just the two of them. She hadn’t felt this relaxed since their school days or when he’d first courted her formally.

It was an excuse, but Lysithea had always needed pretext for embarrassing actions, no matter how much she wanted them. Gathering her courage, she tightened her grip on his hand. Lorenz glanced at her curiously but didn’t say anything. As they stepped into the shadows, she reached up, hooking a delicate hand around his neck and pulling him down. He gasped, lips parting in surprise, and she leaned forward, kissing him softly.

He tasted like sunlight, like an ever-present warmth. Reluctantly, she pulled away as they automatically stepped into the light.

“Lysithea…” Flustered, Lorenz stepped on her toes.

Before he could apologize, Lysithea giggled. “You’re right, that is charming.”

#fe3h #lysithea von ordelia #lorenz hellman gloucester #lyslor #lorenz x lysithea #fire emblem three houses #fanfic

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timelordthirteen · 4 years

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Walk of Shame

Mr. Gold/BelleFrench, Mature

Summary: Gold leaves Belle French's apartment, many hours after he first arrived...to head home.

Notes: Based on this picture of Bobby from OUAT filming which we all agree is clearly Gold doing a "walk of shame." And the first gif in this post.

[AO3]

Gold held up a hand to shield his eyes as he stepped into the glaring morning sun.

He leaned heavily on his cane while he fumbled in his pocket for a pack of cigarettes. It took him a full minute to get one out and light it with only one hand, his loose tie dangling around either side of his neck as he bent his head, and he sighed as he took a long first drag. Two months had passed since his last one. He’d finally resolved to quit, both for his own health and so his son would stop nagging him, but something about the moment made it feel like the thing to do.

He flicked a bit of ash towards the ground and leaned on one of the poles that supported the overhang in front of the library. Smoke swirled up in front of him before catching in the light spring breeze and wafting away as he smirked and took stock of himself. His bad leg had settled into a dull, persistent throb, and his back was unusually stiff. Spending a night in an unfamiliar bed on a mattress that, while serviceable, was full of creaky springs and lumps from too many moving vans, had done him no favors, neither had not having access to his usual evening dose of pain medication. Still, there was nothing a hot shower and a couple of pills wouldn’t solve.

The streets were deserted at this time of day, thankfully. The last thing he wanted was for anyone to see him in his current state of creased trousers and wrinkled shirt, a far cry from his usual impeccability. Though he wouldn’t mind anyone knowing what he’d been up to the previous evening, he wasn’t entirely sure that the person he’d been with would feel the same. His position and power here relied on maintaining a certain sense of the unknown about himself, and an eccentricity that he didn’t really possess but that many people had imbued him with anyway. He’d been far too happy to own all the titles they would give him: evil landlord, miserly pawn broker, devil of Storybrooke; there were so many he’d been called to his face he’d lost count, and still more that he knew were muttered behind his back.

Gold smirked to himself and blew out another stream of smoke.

His lips felt slightly tender, and as he rolled his shoulders and shifted his weight an unfamiliar, yet not uncomfortable, ache spread across his body. Muscles had been used in ways they weren’t used to, showing his age a little more than he liked, but it had all been quite worthwhile.

Who would have predicted the lovely Belle French could be so...insatiable?

He shook his head and took one last, long draw from his cigarette, as his evening - and subsequent morning - with Storybrooke's librarian replayed in his mind.

Gold had been out collecting rent, like any other Thursday, saving his favorite stop for last. Belle had only lived in town for a couple of years, having moved with her father from Boston, not long after her mother's passing. She'd said once that it was about a fresh start for the two of them, and that was something Gold could easily understand.

The rent was ready and sitting on the side table just inside the apartment door, a check slid into a plain white envelope. She was never late, never short, and never not a delight to speak to, though he was perhaps a bit biased in that regard. He had expected an exchange of pleasantries, a short chat, and to be on his way with the rent in his pocket, home to his pink Victorian house and his usual solitary existence.

A moment after Belle opened the door, the sky, which had been overcast and gray all day, opened up in a deluge of rain and a sharp crack of thunder. It startled both of them, and they shared a laugh before she asked him if he wanted to come in until it passed. He’d hesitated at first, but her invitation was in earnest, and before he knew it he was seated on Belle French’s sofa and sipping tea from the delicate porcelain set he’d sold to her barely a year ago.

Later, when the rain had adamantly refused to let up, Gold had resigned himself to walking back to his shop, soaked to the bone. But she wouldn’t hear of it and insisted he stay until it had abated. He got the sense that she was pleased just to have some company, and was uncertain if it mattered that it was him or not.

That thought was dispelled some time after a dinner of reheated lasagna from Granny’s Diner, when he found himself with a lapful of a very enthusiastic Belle. It had been foolish to try to kiss her in her own kitchen, while the storm rattled the small window over the sink, and he was quite prepared to be thrown out on his arse over it. She had done quite the opposite, much to their mutual delight and satisfaction.

Multiple times.

His assumptions that Belle French was in fact wonderful, beautiful, and perfect, had all been confirmed over the course of the evening, and earlier this morning. In fact she was brilliant, stunning, and so many levels out of his league his mind boggled that she would do more than give him the time of day. And she’d done far more than that.

He sucked in a breath and closed his eyes, drawing on his cigarette as a shiver washed over him. The memory of her slick warmth clenching around him made his head spin, and the sensation of her mouth dragging along his length left him shifting his cane to stay upright. He could still smell her on his fingers as he reached up and plucked the cigarette from his lips.

It had been near impossible to drag himself from her apartment this morning, leaving her wearing nothing but a naughty smile as she walked, loose legged, towards the bathroom. He was fairly certain she wouldn’t mind a repeat performance, though he would prefer it be in his bed this time, perhaps after having dazzled her with his culinary skills as a prelude to dazzling her with other skills he had yet to be able to demonstrate.

Gold’s leg twinged painfully, bringing him back to reality, and he licked his lips and stubbed out his cigarette on the edge of the trash bin beside the library entrance before tossing it inside. The rest of the pack followed after it with a heavy sigh. Belle hated smoking.

He stepped off the curb onto the pavement, still wet from last evening’s rain, fighting to hold back a smile. Plans were rolling through his mind, including what kind of flowers he might send to the library this afternoon along with an invitation to dinner Saturday night, when he noticed something moving across the street.

Coming out of the side door of Granny’s Inn was Regina Mills, looking nearly as wrecked as Gold, with her usually prim suit jacket draped over her arm, her blouse untucked from her pencil skirt, and her hair a tousled mess. The inn did a fairly good business in the summer, but early spring didn’t bring many tourists to the coast of Maine, and the only known occupant at present was Emma Swan, the new Sheriff. She and Regina had been publicly sparring for the entire six months Emma had been in Storybrooke, though many noticed there was always an undercurrent of something else between them. By strange circumstance, they now shared a son, and he had assumed that much of their discord came from that particular conflict.

Gold stopped next to his Cadillac, parked in front of his shop, and watched as the Mayor looked around nervously on her way to her car, much the same as he had upon exiting Belle’s apartment over the library. A smirk spread across his face as he pulled open the door of his car and then slammed it shut, making sure to generate as much noise as possible.

Regina startled and turned slowly, her eyes going wide when she saw him.

He pulled open the car door again, smiling back at her before he reached in to set his cane on the passenger’s side. “Good morning, Regina.”

She regarded him suspiciously, and then turned to look at the library. When she faced him again, she was wearing an equally bemused expression. “Gold,” she replied, crossing the vacant street. “Late night?”

“No later than yours I’d imagine.” His grin widened, his tongue pushing at his bottom lip. “Up all night discussing the local crime rate with our new sheriff?”

She hitched her purse higher on her shoulder and attempted to smooth the front of her hair as it fell across her eyes. “And if I was?”

Gold’s eyebrows lifted at her acknowledgement. “Then I would expect the town to benefit from this newfound...cooperation between the mayor’s office and law enforcement.”

Regina tossed her hair back and fixed him with a glare. “I suppose you were just, what? Joining the weekly book club?”

His lips curled and he flashed her his teeth. “Something like that.”

She regarded him for a long moment, and then matched his look with one of her own. “Perhaps we’ll both have better things to do now than antagonizing each other at city council meetings?”

His head tilted. “Oh, I very much doubt that. You see I’ve just recently learned that the local library is greatly underfunded.”

She tipped her head back in that way which conveyed she was looking down her nose at someone, even if they were taller. “And you’re it’s new patron saint?”

He looked away, in the direction of said library, and let out a soft sigh. “Something like that.”

“As I recall,” she began, her voice dropping, “you were opposed to its reopening. What’s changed?”

He leaned forward, bracing against the car, and replied, “Let’s just say I’ve developed a new appreciation for the struggle of our public library system.”

Regina bit her lip as she started to smile. “Then we’ll have to discuss how to correct that, won’t we.”

“Indeed,” he said, seriously. Then he slid into his car, and waited as Regina moved away so he could close the door. He gave her a curt nod through the window, the Cadillac rumbling to life and disturbing the otherwise peaceful morning.

“Regina...”

“Gold...”

He pulled away from the curb, glancing in the rearview mirror to see Regina hurry off to her own vehicle, and grinned to himself. It seemed more than one new alliance had been formed in last evening’s rain.

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #belle x mr. gold #my rumbelle fic #walk of shame #fic #smoking cw

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mariequitecontrarie · 4 years

Text

To Make You Feel My Love

Summary: Rumplestiltskin returns Belle’s heart at the pawnshop. This time, Belle goes after him. Notes: Hey guys, long time, no see! This S4 fix-it has been occupying real estate in my brain for ages. What if Belle had gone after Rumple and we had more than the rushed scene on the pawnshop floor? Thanks to @galactic-pirates for making this a better story! Rating: T Word Count: 7600

On AO3

WILL SCARLET

Will Scarlet is running late, but even though he’d kept Belle waiting at the pawnshop long past supper, his circular thoughts make his steps down Main Street plodding and uncertain.

He wants to resent Rumplestiltskin for ruining his relationship with Belle, but he can’t find fault where there is none. Gold had kept his distance, giving Belle a wide, respectful berth. From what Will had seen, he hadn’t been near the pawnshop, Granny’s, or the library, nor any of Belle’s favorite places.

Hell, he’d been an absolute gentleman.

Until this morning, when Belle had gone to babysit Mary Margaret and David’s Neal Junior. Only then did Rumplestiltskin make his move, cornering Will in the pawnshop. And what Gold told him had changed everything. Learning that Regina was controlling Belle twisted Will’s stomach with disbelief. Is he worried about Belle and what Regina might do next? Certainly. But that isn’t the problem. The blow to his pride is the real sucker punch.

Will pats the precious cargo tucked inside his jacket. His ego doesn’t matter now. He has a job to finish.

Of course, Will cares for Belle. When he met her at Archie Hopper’s birthday party, her sparkling smile and wit had captured his attention right away, and he hadn’t been able to resist asking her to join him for pizza and a pint later that week. They’d chatted long into the evening, and although they didn’t find much common ground, she was fun to talk to. Who wouldn’t enjoy keeping company with a fine lass like Belle? She’s kind, thoughtful, and intelligent. But she’s also more complicated than he anticipated. Too independent, too strong-willed.

Still too in love with her husband.

For the first time in months, Will allows himself to think of Ana. Even though she was often plotting and scheming, being with Ana had been easier somehow. He’d been needed, appreciated. But Belle French Gold didn’t need anything Will Scarlet could offer.

Three weeks into their awkward romance, it’s becoming more obvious by the day that Will is little more than a placeholder.

Like any dating couple, he and Belle spend time together, but always on her terms. Mostly at the pawnshop, sometimes at Granny’s, but always in public and usually with a mountain of chocolate cake between them. It’s Belle’s favorite dessert, and she’s always trying to push a forkful down his gullet. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her he’s allergic to chocolate. She loves her books, stashes them everywhere. There’s even a stack of them at his apartment, although she’s never crossed the threshold. But he’s not much for reading, which is another point against him. Unlike Gold, who clearly shares Belle’s passion for words.

Last week he was searching through the shop drawers for a misplaced ledger when he discovered a book war tally between them, with little notes and quotations scribbled in the margins in two sets of handwriting. He’d quickly buried it in the back of the drawer.

Yeah, the Dark One has more in common with his girlfriend than he does.

Now, as he’s trudging back to the shop with Belle’s heart in a box, he’s still processing the knowledge that without her heart, any emotion or affection she showed him wasn’t real. The worst part is, he didn’t know. He hadn’t seen the difference in a heartless Belle anymore than he would know the difference between Guinness and Beamish when he’s a dozen pints in.

Gold’s visit had blown him out of the water. Concern from someone who really knows her, and for all his sins, truly loves her. Rumplestiltskin wouldn’t have approached him to get Belle’s heart if he hadn’t been desperate.

Much as it irked him to hear the truth from the Dark One, Rumplestiltskin is right; Will doesn’t know Belle as well as he believes. Perhaps he doesn’t know her at all.

So much for boasting about stealing his wife’s affections.

Continuing his plodding pace down Main Street, Will passes the library, then Granny’s. The recent rain has left large cold puddles on the street and his boots make a sloshing sound as he wades through them. The sun is beginning its evening descent, leaving a chill in the dusky air. His wool socks are damp and cold and starting to smell.

Every step brings him closer to his meeting with Rumplestiltskin and the inevitable end of his relationship with Belle. A moment he both dreads and anticipates.

He sidesteps a deep puddle in the middle of Main Street, pausing to take stock of the shop and the box in his hands. The store lights glow from within, casting a message of welcome onto the gloomy, shadowed streets. Through the blinds, he glimpses Belle, standing sentinel over Gold’s domain. Other than its dust-free shelves, everything is as it had been while she and Gold had run the store as husband and wife. If asked she would deny it, but Belle had taken to spending more time puttering around in here than she did at the library with her books.

All along she’d been waiting for Gold to come back. She’d banished him from Storybrooke and then planted herself at the one place to which he would always return. Almost as if daring him to find a way back into town and into her heart.

And today Gold had stormed the shop with a plan to literally win her heart back. It was a fairytale come true, romantic to even the harshest cynic.

Will takes a deep breath and opens the door. As he wipes his sodden boots on the mat inside, Belle greets him with a weary smile. A bag of Granny’s takeout awaits his return on the top of one of the display counters. He tries to croak out a hello, but the box behind his back holding Belle’s heart is slick in his damp palms. He digs his blunt fingernails into the wood, scratching the grain.

May as well get this over with. He shows Belle the box, revealing the crimson heart within. She spreads her hand across her breastbone, her body recognizing its missing heart.

Gold enters the shop through the back door, executing the plan exactly as they had discussed. His power and presence are magnetic, and the lamps seem to flicker in homage. All the energy in the room rushes toward him, ready to obey his every command. Belle’s eyes widen like the saucer that matches her favorite teacup, and Will clamps down on his back teeth. She takes a few steps back, raises a hand in protest, asks Gold why he’s here. The objection is token at best. Even without her heart, Belle’s emotion for Rumplestiltskin is a tangible force.

Will drops back to stand in the shadows, watching, listening, playing his part. Gold commands Belle into Will’s care, his tone laced with resolve and regret.

He’s so stunned by the naked adoration on the Dark One’s face when he returns the heart of the woman he loves, Will barely hears a word.

With Belle’s heart returned to its rightful place, Gold promises not to bother her anymore, but not before another moment passes between them that is so raw and private, Will is embarrassed to have witnessed it.

When he lifts his head, Rumplestiltskin is out the door, and Belle is staring after him like her whole world is gone. Will grasps her hand--a feeble attempt to offer comfort--but she shakes loose of his grip and stares off into the night after Rumplestiltskin, worrying her naked ring finger with her other hand.

Will is resigned; maybe even a little relieved?

There’s nothing left to do but say goodbye.

xoxo

BELLE

What Belle really wants is to feel alive again, to show herself and everyone else in town how capable she is of moving forward, of living a life that doesn’t include Rumple.

Since she banished him from Storybrooke six weeks earlier, advice for nursing her broken heart had come from all sides. Archie prescribed exercise and healthy eating; Granny suggested throwing herself into work; Snow thought she needed to slow down and take more naps.

For a little while, she tried following the suggestions of her friends, but every antidote left her stumbling through her days like a child lost in a fog. Food has no taste, her work at the library seems meaningless, and on the rare nights when she can fall asleep, Rumple follows her into her dreams.

She hasn’t seen him since he came back to Storybrooke, but last night’s dream of standing next to him at the well was so real. When she woke, she felt the warmth of his lips on hers and a peculiar pain in her chest. A royal blue coat she hasn’t worn in ages was draped across the foot of the bed. Odd. She stuffed it into the back of the closet and pulled out the new light pink one.

Eventually, people claimed, it would get easier. Nothing more than a silly platitude, really, but for the last couple of days, she’s struggling to care. She can’t pinpoint when she started to feel this way. All she knows is she would rather sit in the dark with a blanket over her head than face the world.

Will, bless him, is the one bright spot lately. Only he is without judgment; the only person who simply sits quietly at her side without talking, and without offering “101 Ways to Get Over Rumplestiltskin.” Maybe it’s because he loved Anastasia, the Red Queen, who had also made many wrong choices. Maybe it’s because deep down, they’re not expecting anything from each other.

Whatever the reason, he doesn’t demand anything of her, and for that, Belle owes him her gratitude.

xoxo

Granny’s, Last Night Belle sat in a booth opposite Ruby, sipping on her second glass of a new concoction called a Long Island Iced Tea.

Granny promised the combination of cola, liquors, and lemon tasted just like the real thing, so she gave it a try.

Belle doesn’t know why it makes any difference if the fake tea tastes like the original, but Ruby showed up at her house tonight demanding they relax and have a girls’ night. Too tired to argue, she put on the emerald green top and leather skirt Ruby fished out from the back of her closet and here they are.

At least the strange prickling sensation on her tongue and the curious humming in her veins means she’s feeling something. She’s been not quite right for the last few days. Not sick, but not well either. Maybe she should pay a visit to Doctor Whale.

Ruby took a long swig of her drink, a bright red fruity one called a Cosmopolitan. “So, are you still seeing Will?”

It was an odd question, considering she’d had dinner at Granny’s in this exact same booth with Will the night before. Ruby had even been their server.

“We were here together last night,” Belle said. “You swiped some of my curly fries, remember?”

“Oh yeah!”

“Will and I are doing fine,” she said. “Honestly, it’s refreshing to be with someone who’s simple and honest about who they are.”

Ruby giggled around her straw. “A super sweet way of saying he’s boring.”

Belle frowned. Was Ruby trying to confuse her? No one else has questioned her choice in dating Will, and several people have volunteered the viewpoint that both she and the town are better off without Rumplestiltskin in the picture. She hadn’t asked, but since when did that stop anyone?

“You’re always friendly to Will,” she pointed out.

“It’s one thing to be kind to a customer and a member of this town. It’s another to think he’s good for my best friend.” Ruby laughed again, but the shrewd tilt of her head made Belle feel strange and transparent.

She searched for something to say, a way to make Ruby stop giving her that look. “Will is kind. He gave me a rose.” There, that was something.

Ruby snorted. “I’ve read your story in Henry’s book. He’s not the first. Gold-”

Belle held up a hand, cutting her off. “I know who the roses came from.” When they were dating and when they were married, Rumple used to bring her flowers all the time. Often he brought home roses, but sometimes it was peonies and other times wildflowers. They used to enjoy discussing their different meanings. She toyed with the lemon slice floating on top of her drink. Surely she and Will had many things in common, she was just too tired to list them right now. “Will and I both like hiking.”

“Mmmmm. And has Will read any good books lately? If I remember right, you and Gold used to compete to see who could get through the Great Books first.”

“I had no idea you were such a big Rumple fan,” Belle said sarcastically.

She was starting to feel like a contestant on one of those bizarre game shows people watched during the day. Ruby hadn’t objected to her marriage to Rumplestiltskin, but she hadn’t been supportive, either. More like a silent bystander. Suddenly she was jockeying for position as president of his fan club? Belle waved Granny down, hoping to order some chips. Crunchy, salty chips might make her feel better. “So Will’s not a reader, so what?”

“So call me crazy, but I want to see my best friend happy. And with someone who’s happy with her. But Will doesn’t look like a doting boyfriend. Every time I see him, he looks like he’s in pain or halfway to the bottom of a keg.”

“He’s had a tough time,” Belle said, still trying to catch Granny’s eye. “Besides, some people aren’t comfortable expressing emotion.”

“Rumplestiltskin could be the coldest bastard alive,” Ruby said. “But when it came to you, there was never any question about his feelings. His love for you was written all over his face.”

Belle wasn’t sure what to say. Normally, such an impassioned speech would have started the tears yet again. A few weeks ago, she’d even cried in front of Hook, and they were hardly best friends. Being reminded of Rumple always made her chase her choices down the rabbit hole, wondering if she’d been too hasty in sending him away.

Now she only felt tired.

“Come on, Belle. You can lie to yourself but you can’t lie to me. Wasn’t it at least a little bit exciting?” Ruby leaned her elbows on the table, her eyes sparkling with secret conspiracy. “Being married to Rumplestiltskin?”

Belle gnawed her lip, trying to decide how to answer. The drink was starting to make her forehead feel numb. Perhaps she was imagining it, but Ruby seemed to be looking at her with an expectation akin to hope.

“I suppose...yes, I guess it was,” she admitted. Rumple had vexed her, confused her, but when she was with him, her nerve endings were always on fire. He’d made her feel alive, and she was transfixed by his darkness as much as she had celebrated the light.

Ruby nodded, shifting further forward in her seat. “You loved the excitement, the idea of rehabilitating a monster. Told me so yourself.” She took a long pull on her drink.

“He’s not a monster!” Belle snapped. The denial was a reflex, charged with an emotion she didn’t feel. A few other patrons in the diner turned to look at her, curious about who was yelling, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.

Jumping to Rumple’s defense was a habit. A meaningless habit. She took a deep breath. “But that wasn’t...Rumple is...there’s no excuse for what he did but he’s still not...that.” What had he done, anyway? Belle couldn’t seem to remember.

She pushed her drink back and forth, wanting nothing more than to abandon this ridiculous evening and go home. But her legs were numb and if she left the table, she might not make it to the door before collapsing in a heap.

What was wrong with her? She really did need to call Whale, but then she would have to explain her symptoms. Difficult, considering she doesn’t know what the problem is, and she dare not bring up the word ‘depression.’ She’s not taking any more of those wacky antipsychotics he had her on when she was in the hospital last year.

At the cash register, Belle noticed Regina picking up a to-go order. It was the first time Belle has seen her today or had she been in the shop earlier? Awareness flickered on the edges of Belle’s consciousness but the feeling floated away as quickly as it came.

Across the table, Ruby snapped her fingers. “Belle? Did you hear me?”

Belle blinked. “Sorry, what?”

“I said I didn’t mean what I said about Gold. I’m sorry.” Ruby gave her hand a squeeze. “Are you okay? Maybe I shouldn’t have dragged you out tonight. I just miss you. We haven’t hung out in a while, but you don’t seem to be having much fun.”

“Forget it, I’m fine.” Belle let her eyes drift shut. “Just tired.”

“I know, sweetie,” Ruby soothed. “And I know you miss Gold. No matter what he’s done, you love him. I worry about you now that he’s back in Storybrooke, though. If he comes to find you, you won’t be able to stay away.”

Annoyance flares for a moment. Ruby thinks she’s weak. They all do.

She could stay away from Rumple if she really tried. She has a new boyfriend; Rumplestiltskin was no longer the only man in Belle French’s life.

“It’s over,” Belle said. “Rumple won’t get to me again.” She lifted her chin, daring Ruby to contradict her, but it didn’t matter.

How could she expect anyone else to believe her when she didn’t believe herself?

xoxo

Belle’s heart feels right inside her chest, strong and sure. Her ribs wrap around the familiar organ, holding it safe and snug. And when she holds her breath, she can feel the warmth of Rumple’s fingers on her heart, his fingers cupping her shoulder, strong yet tender.

She takes another lungful of air, holds it close to feel his phantom touch again.

Yesterday’s memories come surging back, and she almost falls to her knees with their force. At Regina’s urging, she had called Rumple to the well. He came, of course, as he always did when she asked. She’d seen his wounded husk of a heart. Then she’d kissed him. Seconds later, she’d ruined the tender moment with nasty words she didn’t mean to say. Words Regina put in her mouth.

The dream she thought she had was real.

It’s tempting to blame Regina for this mess, but she had walked right into this with her offer to help. Still, she is beyond weary of playing the ‘Use Belle to Get to Rumple Game’. Can’t anyone think of a better way to solve problems?

Fingers reach for hers, seeking to comfort, startling her. Will. She’d forgotten he was there.

His hand is warm but wrong, the fingers too short and thick, the palm too square. It doesn’t fit; they don’t fit.

She shakes him off, her full focus on watching her love walk away until he’s swallowed by the night.

How like Rumple to return her heart and then walk out the door with it all over again.

“Belle,” Will says, breaking into her thoughts again. “What can I do?”

This she recognizes--the consuming need to be something other than helpless. It was what drove her to help Regina yesterday. That, and she hadn’t seen Rumple since he’d been back in town. Regina had given her an easy excuse.

“Rumple’s sick,” she answers, staring at the outline of her reflection in the glass front of the shop. “I didn’t understand what he meant about his black heart. Not until he returned mine. Then I remembered. I saw him yesterday in the woods, by the old well.”

She decides it’s better to leave out the details, like how she’d compared their kisses and told Rumple he was lacking. The truth is, the brief pecks she’s shared with Will don’t come anywhere close to what Rumple makes her feel, and there’s no reason to hurt him.

“Figured it was something like that.” He takes a step closer but doesn’t attempt to touch her again. “Gold was the one who told me your heart had been stolen. He asked for my help.”

“Thank you.” She isn’t sure if she is grateful for his part in returning her heart or because he had allied with Rumple to do it. Rumple prided himself on working alone, and it was entirely out of character for him to trust anyone else with what needed doing. More than suspicious, Rumple asking Will for help was downright frightening.

A sign, she fears, of how weak his heart is becoming.

The idea of Rumple hurting and alone makes her dizzy with worry. Outside, droplets from this afternoon’s rain roll down the windows, little pin drops of light in the blackness. In the glass, she sees the bloated reflection of Will’s takeaway dinner from Granny’s sitting on the counter, the turkey melt and fries within long since gone cold.

It’s only been a few minutes since Rumple left the pawnshop, but it feels as though a lifetime has passed.

“What would you do if Anastasia was in trouble?” she asks Will, still facing the dark street. They haven’t talked much about each other’s past loves. Belle only knows that Will left Wonderland heartbroken and came to Storybrooke to heal and find a fresh start. She’s been equally quiet about Rumple.

“If this were Ana, I would give anything to be there for her.” Will sounds wistful. “For all her faults, there’s still good in her. In Rumplestiltskin, too, I’d wager.”

Will is quiet for a long moment, then asks the question. “Do you still love him?”

It’s an out, Belle realizes. He’s setting her free.

A tear runs down her cheek, and she turns to face the man who made her first few weeks without Rumplestiltskin a little easier. Will is a wonderful person, he’s just not the person for her “I do love him,” she whispers.

“Then fight for him. Go.” He nods toward the door.

Belle wastes no more time in hurrying after Rumple. They both know Will won’t be there when she returns.

The cold air hits her face and she squints into the dark, half-expecting Rumple to have vanished into thin air in one of his impressive parlor tricks. He’s nowhere in sight, so she picks a direction on instinct, splashing through frigid puddles as she runs on sheer hope, mindless of her soaked shoes.

It doesn’t take her long to catch him, and she pulls to a stop right outside the library doors.

“Rumple, wait!”

He stops walking away and turns, his forehead wrinkling with worry. “Belle, what are you doing out here in the cold? Are you okay?” He glances at her chest, where he’d replaced her heart mere moments earlier, and Belle looks down at her blouse. She’d run out of the shop without her coat.

“I should be asking you that question.” His face is ashen and his breathing shallow, pale fingers clutching the edges of his overcoat.

His rigid jaw softens at her concern and he looks at her like he's her husband, instead of someone she used to know. The way he looked at her scant minutes ago when he returned her heart. “Yes, well. Poison consuming your heart from the inside out will tend to have that effect.”

“Where are you staying?” She waves back toward the shop where the car is parked around the side. “I’ll drive you.”

“The cabin.” He tries to disguise a shiver.

“With Cruella?” She suddenly remembers hearing from Snow and David that Maleficent and Ursula had also been there with him. His evil dream team.

Taking in the worn sight of him, she tamps down on the urge to remind him that more nefarious plans won’t fix the current mess. To anyone else, he would appear healthy. Only she sees the brokenness behind his proud, well-dressed exterior. In all the years she’s known him, he’s never needed sleep, never felt the bite of winter air. Tonight his eyes are dark shadows, reflecting exhaustion, and he’s shivering in the cold.

“Come on.” She takes his arm, steering him in the direction of the car, and he allows himself to be led down the sidewalk.

He hadn’t asked for her help; then again, he never does. No expectations mean no disappointments.

Belle can’t help but wonder if he’ll ever trust her enough to take what she offers. This, she supposes as they walk arm-in-arm down the block together, is a start. xoxo

RUMPLESTILTSKIN

Rumplestiltskin isn’t sure what he expected when Belle chased him down the street and insisted on driving him somewhere, but coming back to their old home wasn’t on his list of possibilities.

The weakened state of his heart has made him careless and he’d nodded off in the car, his forehead pressed against the passenger side window. He’d woken up to find the car already parked in the driveway as if by magic, then followed Belle into the house as docile as a lamb.

Out of habit, Rumplestiltskin heads for the den and crouches before the hearth to start a fire. Back when life was good, relaxing in front of a good blaze was one of their favorite ways to spend a quiet evening. Belle would read, stopping now and then to laugh or read a passage aloud for his entertainment; he would make tea for her and pour whiskey for himself, then settle in the leather armchair to review paperwork from the shop. Occasionally, he would simply stare into the flames and think.

He hasn’t been here since she banished him from Storybrooke, and he’s surprised to see how little has changed. He expected Belle would have moved into the apartment above the library. But from the piles of books stacked on the floors and the warm, comforting aromas of paper and vanilla in the air, he can tell she’s been living here. Half-burned candles are clustered on the dust-free coffee and end tables, and a throw blanket they bought together is slung over the back of the leather sofa. He wonders if his suits are still hanging in the master bedroom closet.

Belle has been living here where they’d lived as husband and wife. Hope kindles in his spirit like the embers glowing in the grate. Maybe Belle still feels something for him, or perhaps all these creature comforts tell of evenings she’s been spending here with Will.

Will is the better man, that’s certain. Honorable, strong, caring. Rumplestiltskin simply counts himself a lucky bastard for having Belle in his life for as long as he did. How he talked her into marrying him, he has no idea.

In truth, he never expected her to say yes.

Knowing his failings as a husband doesn’t remove the sting of feeling replaced. Will is such a better kisser than you are. Those were the exact words Belle said to him yesterday at the well.

And gods, do they hurt.

He can’t fault Belle when Regina played puppeteer with her heart, forcing her to do and say things she didn’t mean. But what if she had meant it? Wasn’t there a grain of truth in every lie?

He focuses on the fire, punishing the log as he pretends Will Scarlet’s skull is on the other end of the hot poker clenched in his fist. The embers stir to life and before long, he has a strong blaze going. At least he can still do this right.

“Thank you,” Belle says quietly, coming to stand beside him. Her shoes are gone and she’s bundled into the old blue sweater she keeps tucked in the foyer closet. She holds out her hands, letting the fire warm her chilled fingertips. Her hands are always cold; such an odd contrast to her warm, generous heart.

Why she’s brought him here, he has no idea, but he’s helpless to do anything but wait for an explanation. His heart aches with the sort of physical pain he hasn’t felt in two hundred years and he can barely keep his feet. Moreover, he doesn’t have the strength to teleport away even if he wanted to escape.

Belle’s heart now restored, he doubts she is a pawn in another trick. Besides, this is Belle. Guileless, compassionate, beautiful Belle. Not for a moment does he believe she would hurt him of her own volition. Darkness and pain changed a person, though. He knows this better than most. He also knows he exposed her to harsh amounts of both. His wife. The one he’d sworn to love and protect until death. He is unworthy of her, which is why he returned her heart and entrusted her to Will.

So why isn’t she with him now?

“Shouldn’t you...where is Will?” He turns toward her, using the light of the fire to search her expressive face for answers. Is she smiling, frowning, biting her lip? He loves every little sign that tells him what she’s thinking.

She presses her lips together as if measuring her words. “You and I have things to say to each other.”

“But I thought the two of you were getting on.” Gods, he sounds like a village matchmaker. All he wants is for Belle to be happy, even if it’s not with him.

Her forehead crinkles the way it does whenever she’s thinking. “We’ve gone out a couple of times. Our relationship is simple. No complications. With Will, what you see is what you get.”

“And with me?”

Her laughter is tired, but at least she is smiling. “With you, nothing is simple.”

The truth in those words is indisputable, but it’s also one of the reasons she loves him or at least used to love him. He has no idea how she feels about him anymore, and her passionate kiss at the well yesterday has left him even more confused.

“Long ago, you told me love is layered. A mystery to be uncovered.” He smiles a little, remembering that day in his castle with fondness. He presented her a rose with a flourishing bow, and she’d not only accepted it, she’d liked it. And he’d fallen stupidly, hopelessly in love with her.

“And so it is.” She lifts her hands toward him, the arms of her too-large sweater sagging down to brush the top of her ribcage. “May I take your coat?”

She folds his overcoat neatly, the way he likes, and drapes it over the side of the leather armchair in the corner. His old chair. Does she mean for him to sit there? Before he can ask, she moves to the sofa and sits, patting the cushion beside her. Inviting him closer, but not too close.

“You look like you need to sit down,” she says. “Maybe you could tell me about New York?”

“All right.” Gold sinks slowly into the opposite cushion of the sofa, trying to make it look more like a choice than a need. The weakness of his heart is making harsh demands on his body and his legs wobble like a new colt, even when he’s off his feet. He rubs his fingers together, considering where to start his story. He’s not proud of the craven alliances he made with Ursula and Cruella, or of tricking Belle into thinking he was an Oxford linguistics scholar, or of releasing a Chernabog to get back into town. As for his hellish five weeks in the city, he’d rather forget about flatlining in a hospital bed and nearly dying at Zelena’s hand.

But Belle’s face is alive with interest, the way it had been in the Enchanted Forest when he returned from errands in far off kingdoms like Camelot and Arendelle. She would pour tea for both of them, steaming and sweet, and beg him to tell her about his adventures. It dawns on him that he’d promised her a honeymoon; that trip was meant to be the first leg of her long-cherished dream to see the world.

Until he’d stolen her hopes with his deceit.

When he looks at her again, she’s huddled beneath her blanket with her feet tucked under her knees, waiting for him to begin.

Belle relishes nothing more than a good story, and the least he can do is describe a place he’s been to that she longs to see, even if his visit was anything but a vacation. So he reclines against the back of the sofa and begins to talk, describing the flashing lights, bright yellow taxi cabs, and bustling sidewalks. Buildings so tall they chased the stars. Theatres, food trucks, Central Park bursting into bloom. The wonderful, lively madness of New York.

Belle listens with rapt attention, her shoulders hunched toward him in anticipation. And so he digs deeper, into the darker aspects of the city, telling her of roaming the streets without magic, seeking warmth from a fire in a trash can under a bridge, microwaving ramen noodles swathed in a ratty bathrobe, sleeping on a sagging couch in the dank, third-floor flat he shared with Ursula.

He tells her the skies are blacker in New York than in Maine because the bright billboards and digital signs eclipse the starlight. He even admits to collapsing in Neal’s old apartment and almost dying in the hospital, stopping short of telling her how frightened he’d been. How he’d longed to call her like he had the last time he was dying, but he didn’t think she wanted to hear from him. Details about Zelena and the potion that jump-started his heart will have to wait.

“I don’t expect you to understand, Belle,” he says when he finishes his tale. They both know he doesn’t mean his talking tour of New York City.

“But I do understand, Rumple. I do.”

While he’d been speaking, she’d come closer, until she’s almost sitting on his side of the sofa. Now she reaches for him, lightly resting her palm over the back of his hand. “All you really wanted was to come home. And if all those decisions led you here, then I’m grateful.”

So she hadn’t wanted him banished for good. Relief at being welcomed, even in this small way, eases the burden of hurt he’s carried all these weeks.

“Thank you for telling me,” she says. “And for getting my heart back. I didn’t get a chance to say it back at the shop.”

He averts his gaze from the compassion in hers. Those angel eyes saw the good in many devils, him most of all. “I deserve everything that happened to me. That’s why I left you with Will. I-” he stops as his chest hitches with another pain and she squeezes his fingers “-soon my heart will be completely black and there will be no love left inside me. The man you saw good in will be gone. I’m not worth...you shouldn’t bother.” He finishes with a wheeze.

“When it comes to you, you’re fond of telling me what I’m supposed to want and think and feel.” She wags a finger, her frustration a tangled web between them. “Why don’t you let me decide what is and is not worth the bother?”

The boldness of her devotion continues to astound him.

When he held her heart in his hands earlier tonight, he’d felt the strength of it. A heart untouched by dark deeds, young, strong, so full of love. Each heart has a unique life force, an imprint of the one to whom it belongs. He’s used, stolen, and crushed more than his share. Tonight was the first time he’d ever returned one. Restless, he shifts on the sofa, trying to get comfortable. When that fails, he tries to rise. “I really need…” He falls back against the cushion. Damn this infernal weakness! His focus needs to be on getting that wretched Author to rewrite his story, to keep the Dark One from overtaking his soul, but he can’t control his own limbs. Even magic, his oldest, darkest friend, is failing him.

“What you really need is to let me help you,” she says. “Will you?”

His breath is growing short, and he shrinks into the corner of the sofa with a groan. Gods, his chest burns, but he doesn’t want to be an obligation or a heroic duty she feels honor-bound to carry out. “You want to help me for the sake of the town? To protect them from the beast? Or because a hero always helps people?”

She puts her hands on his shoulders, the pressure of her fingers demanding that he look at her. He does, only to find bright blue eyes swimming with tears.

“This isn’t about being a hero,” she says. “I want to help because I care about you. It’s like I told you at the well yesterday and again tonight, I’ve seen your heart and I do understand. Despite everything, I have faith in you.”

She lets go of his shoulders, and he wants to weep with the loss of her touch. Instead, he focuses on her offer of help. “What do you have in mind?”

“Tomorrow, I’ll go with you to see this Author of yours. But first, rest. You’re in no condition to go anywhere tonight, Rumple,” she says. “ Take off your jacket.”

He almost laughs at her order. Despite the cloak of sadness and exhaustion surrounding them, Belle is unflinchingly direct. He attempts to struggle out of the garment, nearly ripping it before she smooths her hands down his arms again, easing him out of the sleeves.

Her hands fall to unbutton his waistcoat and tie, her teeth scraping her lower lip in concentration. “What are you doing?” he asks, though it’s fairly obvious she’s disrobing him here in the den.

“Don’t worry.” Aware of his sense of propriety, she shrugs. “I’m making you more comfortable.”

Again he wonders what Will would think about them being here together. He wants to ask again, but with the new understanding building between them, their intimacy is as fragile as a chipped china cup.

Belle edges to the far end of the sofa, then pats her legs in invitation. “Stretch out.”

Too tired to argue, he unlaces his shoes and removes them, then eases down until his head and shoulders are cradled in her lap. He settles on his side, accepting her comfort, but facing away from her to watch his red striped socks flicker in the firelight.

Their bodies throw shadows on the wallpaper as evening melts into night, enrobing them like a warm blanket. They’re quiet for a long time, and only the rhythmic tick of the grandfather clock and the crackle of the fire enter the silence.

Staring into the fire with the warmth of Belle’s body cradling his head and her faint scent of roses and vanilla, he feels safe for the first time in many months.

Safe enough to ask the question that’s been puzzling him since he came back to town.

He shifts in her lap so he faces the ceiling, turning his head upward to see her face. “Why did you stay here in Storybrooke after I left? You could have traveled, seen the world. You still can. Will and you could-”

“There is no Will and me,” she interrupts, her fingers brushing back the annoying piece of hair that always falls across his forehead. “There never really was.”

He sucks in a breath, a rush of hope making his ruined heart beat triple time. “What do you mean?”

“Will is a good man.” He studies her expression. She smiles fondly when she talks about him, but no excitement lights her features the way it does when she talks about her books or learning something new. “Spending time with him was pleasant, but I think what we were both looking for was an escape from past hurts.”

The reminder that he is the cause of Belle’s pain makes him wince. “I’m sorry, Belle. And I know no number of apologies can make up for what I’ve done.”

He feels the weight of her hurt in her sigh. “I know, Rumple. I’m not angry with you, but I’m not sure I’m ready to forgive, either. After I saw your face again for the first time, with my heart, Will and I both knew it wasn’t right. I knew I could never love him the way…” She trails off, pressing her lips together. “I’m not saying I’m ready to be with you again, I’m not. And I might never be.”

They fall silent again, leaving him plenty of time to think over her words. What she’s given him tonight is enough. Time is the ultimate healer. Someday he might have the chance to earn her love, to become worthy of her. If he can get his heart working properly again.

Her cool fingers stroke his forehead in rhythmic motions, and he lets his eyes drift closed, savoring this stolen moment of peace.

“Can I see it again?” she whispers. “Your heart?”

“You’re the only one I trust with it,” he answers. He sits up to remove it from his chest--ugly, black, and cold--and gives it to her. She curls her fingers around it, cradles it in her palms like a precious object. Tears sting his eyes and he can almost feel her holding it.

With her eyes on his, she lifts the husk to her mouth and places a kiss on the flickering red core. The tender brush of her lips touches his soul. Perhaps he merely conjures the image of his heart glowing brighter with her kiss, but there’s no mistaking the surge of energy he feels. True love is potent magic indeed.

She places his heart back against his chest, and he guides her movements, allowing her to press it home.

“Let me do something for you now; something I should have done long ago,” he says. “Your heart, I want to protect it.”

It had been foolish of him not to have done this years ago. Blinded by the arrogance of power, he assumed he would always be by her side, protecting her. Now he must ensure that no one--not Regina, nor anyone else--will ever be able to control Belle again.

More importantly, he must make Belle feel his love in the only way he can while he still has the strength. Before the darkness consumes him for good, leaving nothing more than a black void, wretched and evil. “But the price. You’re so weak.” She bites her lower lip, no doubt confused by his urgency.

“I’ll pay any price. To me, the cost of you being hurt again is far greater.” Weeks, days, maybe mere hours remain before his heart turns to stone. And the weaker his heart becomes, the more volatile and unstable the darkness inside him will become. If the darkness escapes, not even he knows what will happen next. “Please sweet-” he stops, swallowing the endearment. He has lost the right to speak words of love. “Belle. Allow me to do this.”

A wobbly nod signals her acceptance, and he leads her to stand facing him between the sofa and the fireplace.

“Close your eyes, my love.” He places both hands in the center of her chest, careful not to touch the upper swells of her breasts even through the layers of fabric she wears. The powerful thrum of her heart seems to burn through her clothing, singeing his fingertips. It’s as though her heart has a mind of its own and understands what he must do.

Calling on all the love he feels for her, he channels the purest of magic. No darkness tonight. Soon a shimmer flows from his hands and into her body, and he sees a light so clear and true the den is illuminated as a brilliant summer day. Even the air is warm and sweet.

The force of the magic knocks them both backward and they reach out, catching each other. Together they stagger back to the sofa where he collapses, wrung dry from the exertion of conjuring the spell.

Sweat has beaded on his brow, and he feels Belle wiping it away with the soft hem of her sweater. Arms encircle him, pulling him close against her body.

“I feel warm,” she murmurs into the top of his head. “Safe.”

“The protection spell,” he slurs against her chest, his words thick and drowsy. “Makes you warm. Makes me tired.”

“Sleep now,” she urges, beginning to once more stroke his hair. “I’ll protect you. And tomorrow we’ll see the Author.”

He smiles through his exhaustion--his darling, wonderful, brave Belle--and lets his eyes drift shut.

They are far from whole, but with the truth out in the open, they are better tonight than they’ve been in a long time, maybe ever. Despite his many sins, she chooses to see the best in him. So he honors her choice with one of his own: he chooses to keep fighting, trying to be the good man she sees.

In truth, he’s terrified of tomorrow. He doesn’t want to die. But with Belle’s love on his side, this old husk of a heart will never give up.

###

THE END

#rumbelle fic #rumbelle #rumbelle angst #rumbelle fix #fix-it #belle gold #rumplestiltskin #will scarlet #mqc writes #to make you feel my love

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klove0511 · 4 years

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Welcome to Your Future

Title: Welcome to Your Future Author: klove0511 Artist: ncdover1285 Pairing: Sam/Dean Rating: T Warnings/Spoilers: Angst with a Happy Ending, Time Travel, Pre-Series Dean Winchester, season 9/10 Sam Winchester, Mutual Pining, implied unrequited sam/cas, Show level violence, Demon Dean Winchester, Implied/Referenced Suicide (no actual suicide) Summary: When Dean is suddenly pulled through time, he's confronted with a broken little brother a decade older than he should be. With Sam determined to send Dean back to his own time, will Dean be able to figure out where his present day counterpart is and fix things for Sam? Art: Tumblr Story: Ao3

Dean checked his hand, checked the pot in the middle of the table, then glanced at his fellow players. Two had folded already, and he was sure the last guy was bluffing. So was Dean, mostly. A pair of tens wasn't a phenomenal hand but it was better than nothing. He glanced again at his cards, put on a calculated grin and said, "Raise," as he tossed another few bills into the pot.

The guy's eyes did the same dance between Dean, his cards, and the pot, and he took a swig of his beer before he tossed his cards down. "Fold. Congrats, kid."

Dean grinned but tried to keep it out of the realm of cockiness. He'd won fair and square, but there was no need to rub it in their faces. He collected his winnings and straightened the bills, estimating that he had at least $500 in his hand. A good place to call it for the night. No need to play until they got desperate enough to pick a fight. He tossed back the rest of his whiskey and took his leave, relieved when none of the guys looked too disgruntled. It had been a good night, and he wasn't looking for trouble.

The cool night air was refreshing after the smoky atmosphere of the bar. He took a deep breath and made his way to the Impala. He'd drive back to his motel, then check in with his dad in the morning. They were on separate hunts at the moment, and Dean had finished his early. Tomorrow, he'd find out if Dad needed backup in Arizona or if he had another case for Dean to work. Tonight, he'd count his winnings and get a good night sleep for once.

He was maybe ten steps from the car when his stomach lurched, and the world tilted sideways. Throwing his hands out to catch himself, he fought down nausea as his vision blacked out momentarily before resolving into a dimly lit room that he didn’t recognize.

When the world stopped spinning, Dean took stock. He was in a library with heavy oak tables and stone pillars, filled with low half bookcases and a variety of swords. Someone was passed out in one of the seats. Not a public library, then, but some rich asshole's house. His gaze flicked around, searching for a threat or an explanation, before settling on the figure slumped over one of the tables. His instincts tingled. Long hair, but tall and built like a guy. Plaid flannel shirt. Smelled like cheap whiskey. At least a dozen books were strewn across the table, and at the next table over were a bunch of herbs by a beaten-up copper bowl. Dean’s eyes danced over the guy, noting at least two bulges that probably indicated concealed weapons. Make that a rich, armed asshole. And maybe a witch.

He didn't know what a witch would want with him, but he was sure it wasn't good.

He pulled his own gun from the small of his back before slowly approaching. He considered just shooting the bastard, but he could use some answers. Where he was, for starters. He got close, almost close enough to touch, when the guy groaned and rolled his head to the side, one hand fumbling for the empty tumbler just out of reach. Dean stepped back out of the guy's range and flicked off the safety.

The soft click was obviously enough to alert the witch, though, because he froze, hardly even breathing. The hair moved, revealing a beard and a jawline that sparked recognition deep in his gut. But his dad would never let his hair grow that long. And it was hard to tell when he was sitting, but Dean was pretty sure this guy was longer and leaner than John Winchester had ever been. Never mind the spell ingredients. John Winchester wouldn't be caught dead using magic.

"Who are you?" he asked, lowering his voice to a growl in an attempt to intimidate.

If possible, the guy in front of him stilled further. He was statuesque, could have been carved from marble for all he moved. Finally, an eternity later, the guy breathed out a name, reverent and disbelieving. "Dean?"

He didn't recognize the voice, but the guy clearly knew who Dean was. Which made sense, given the circumstances. The evidence pointed to Dean being summoned via some spell this jerk had done. He hadn't heard about anyone summoning a person before, but he learned new things every day.

The guy never answered the question, just turned slowly and sat up until Dean could see his face. The familiarity lurched against his consciousness again. He didn't know this guy, but... he did. He was older, bearded, and broken, but he thought he recognized his kid brother under there. He faltered, lowered the gun minutely. "Sam?" he asked, unsure.

The guy's eyes widened in what might be surprise or fear, but he nodded.

Nausea threatened to overtake him again. Dean may not have an explanation yet for what the hell was going on, but he believed this guy. Sam. He believed Sam. Instantly, he dropped his aim, turning on the safety and holstering the gun in one smooth motion. Still, he was wary. This wasn't his little brother, not really. Not unless school had aged him a decade or more.

This Sam was gaping at him like a fish, or like he was some kind of fucking miracle, which sat all kinds of wrong with Dean. He didn't seem like he was going to start supplying answers on his own any time soon though, so Dean was going to have to take the initiative.

He looked around, taking in his surroundings in light of this new information. "Want to tell me what's going on, Sam?"

Sam swallowed hard and dropped his eyes. "I don't know." He glanced back at Dean with a shrewd look. "What year is it for you?"

That confirmed one thing, anyway, though he was sure Sam was lying through his teeth about not knowing what was going on. "2004.”

Sam started, leaning back in surprise.

Dean waited, cocking an eyebrow. Sam needed to give him something. Some explanation.

Sam's jaw worked and a furrow appeared between his eyes. He gave a weird half smirk that Dean couldn't interpret and said, "Welcome to 2014."

Alone in his room, Sam couldn't stop thinking about what had just happened. The spell had worked. Just not how he'd intended. Certainly not how he had expected it to work. Dean at 24 was a sight to behold, all confidence and cocky attitude, full of easy grins and so much optimism. Dean had thought he was being skeptical, sure, but the second he knew he was talking to Sam he'd dropped his guard. Sam's Dean would never. Not now, not after having met too many doppelgangers of themselves or people they knew. It stung, but it was safer, and he breathed easier knowing that his Dean would have asked for proof that he was really Sam.

It felt good, though, knowing Dean was in the bunker again, even if it was the wrong Dean. Tomorrow he was going to have to figure out how to send him back to 2004, and then go back to figuring out how to find his brother, or, more likely, his brother's dead body. He still had nothing more than a shitty note to go on, and he had already been scraping the bottom of the barrel with this spell. Cas had told him it wasn't likely to work, and Sam just hadn't cared. A slim chance was better than no chance. Of course, it hadn't worked. Had instead yanked his brother (his gorgeous, alive, never gone to Hell brother) from the past. Even younger than the version that had pulled Sam back into the life, the version Sam had been entirely unable to resist.

He closed his eyes and willed away his erection. His brother was dead, and this vision from his past needed to go away before he did something truly inappropriate. Worse, before Dean found out just how bad things got in the next decade of his life and decided Sam wasn't worth coming to Stanford for. Or... No. They'd learned, painfully, that messing with the past did nothing. Warning Dean of all the problems Sam would cause in the future wouldn't do anything good. Wouldn't stop the Apocalypse. Wouldn't bring Sam's brother back. It would just erase the trust that he had maintained in Sam for years, warranted or not, and it had been that trust that kept Sam going after losing Jess and Dad.

Dean sat alone in the room Sam had given him. It was bare and musty, like it hadn't been used in years. He had a lot of questions that Sam hadn't been willing to answer, and honestly, Dean thought they were both probably too drunk for a useful Q and A tonight. That was why he'd agreed to go to bed and figure things out in the morning. The problem was that he couldn't sleep, and the questions circling his brain were getting louder with every lap. Chief among them was what the hell was going on with Sam? Even factoring in the extra decade that Sam had lived, he looked old. Worse, he looked desperate. Dean just wondered what he was desperate for. The question that followed naturally from there was where the hell was 2014 Dean? He should be here taking care of his brother when he was such a mess. Sam hadn't denied that he'd been doing spell work, which, best case scenario, meant that he was hunting again. What had happened to the Sam that wanted out of the life at any cost? Who had turned his back on his family to go to college? Something had gone down, and Dean was absolutely sure he wasn't going to like it when he found out. No matter how mad he was that Sam had wanted a normal life more than he'd wanted his family, no matter how much he resented that Sam got a shot at college and a life that wasn't hunting, Dean had been proud of his brother for making it into Stanford.

The way Sam had looked at him—it was unsettling. Dean wasn't sure where the present version of himself was, but with that look... Well, Dean had suspicions. He wasn't going to get any sleep until he had some answers, so it was time to do some digging. He padded out into the hall, careful to keep his footsteps quiet. Sam had said he was in room 21, and a quick check of his door revealed that Sam had put him in 15. Heading away from Sam's room, he started checking doors as he went. Three rooms identical to his, down to the mothball smell, and then he hit the jackpot with room 11. Weapons were mounted on the walls, the bed was rumpled, as if it had been used recently, and the air was fresh. Reasonably fresh. Ok, it smelled like old pizza and gym socks, but at least it smelled like something besides dust and stale air. His eyes were drawn to the box of magazines on the desk as he flicked on the light, and he knew he was in the right spot. A box stuffed full of Busty Asian Beauties could only mean that he was in his room. Dean's room. Current him's room. Whatever.

There were photos on the bedside table, and he grinned as he flipped through them. He didn't recognize most of them, but he knew why they lived in a prominent place. Happy memories, all of them. It was weird, watching Sammy grow up in stutter stops across the four pictures he was in, and Dean frowned, realizing nothing looked recent. The last picture of Sam was easily years younger than the Sam he'd met tonight. Replacing the pictures on the table, he did a slow inventory of the room. There was a note on the bed, and on closer inspection, there were stains on the bedspread. Blood. Diluted blood, like someone had cleaned wounds here and never bothered to clean up. A touch revealed that it was dry and stiff. Days old at least, no telling if it was more than that. He checked the note.

Sammy, let me go.

He recognized his own handwriting but felt nothing other than confusion. Why would he write a note like this? This place was awesome, and he knew, instinctively, that no matter what else had changed in the intervening decade he would kill to have his own room. The decorative touches spoke of someone who had settled in, who wanted to be here. Not a Dean that was planning on leaving his brother. He frowned harder. How could this have happened? He managed to get his brother back, despite years of no contact while Sam was at Stanford. A decade later and they were still together, living in the same weird mansion with no windows. They had made it. Hell, they had both made it past their thirtieth birthdays, a feat he hadn't even dared to hope was possible.

So why had he left?

Blood on the sheets. Note saying to let him go. A profoundly messed up little brother. A room so untouched it may as well be a shrine to present day Dean. If it hadn't been for the note in his own handwriting, he'd say 2014 him was dead. With the note... Hunt gone wrong? Dean must have blamed himself, so he took off. Which meant it had probably been Sam hurt. Judging by the quantity of blood on the comforter, it had been bad. He cursed himself. He'd probably patched Sam up and ditched as soon as he was stable enough to leave alone.

The thought of patching Sam up in this room, rather than taking him to his own spoke volumes to Dean. They had separate rooms, but this Dean obviously loved his brother as much as Dean did. He shuddered at the thought that maybe that affection had been given voice, and that was why he'd fled.

He turned off the lamp and closed the door. Time to see the rest of this place.

Sam stumbled into the kitchen and was surprised to find it smelled of freshly brewed coffee. It cut through the hangover fog enough to jolt Sam into confusion for a moment, and then he remembered. His brother (not his brother, not his brother) was sitting at the table, contemplating his cup of coffee and picking at a plate piled high with bacon. Dean looked like he was nursing a mild hangover himself, which made Sam wonder what he'd been doing before the spell had caught him.

Dean smirked at him, which Sam ignored, then said, "Interesting place you got here, Sammy."

Sam groaned internally. He should have known Dean would go exploring if he left him alone for two minutes without any answers. Still, he didn't want to give anything away that might screw up the timeline. It would be his luck to accidentally change something and find himself in a future that was even worse than the hell he was currently living in.

When his silence continued past the limits of Dean's patience, Dean made a frustrated noise. "Come on, man. I know last night wasn't the time, but you've got to tell me what the hell is going on. You were wasted and doing spells powerful enough to pull me through freaking time. Talk to me."

Sam sighed and relented, if only slightly. He poured himself a cup of coffee and said, "If it makes you feel any better, I didn't do the spell drunk. Got wasted after it didn't work."

There was a pregnant pause, then Dean said softly, "What was it supposed to do, Sam?"

Sam's heart broke all over again, and he had to squeeze his eyes shut and grip the counter to ground himself. "It was supposed to find you. Just not you from 10 years ago."

The silence in the room was oppressive, and Sam waited for Dean to ask the obvious question. When he didn't, Sam steeled himself and turned around to face his brother. Dean was staring into his coffee mug, unreadable expression on his face.

Sam stumbled over his thoughts, wanting to fix this, to make it better somehow. He'd just ripped his brother out of time and then told him that he wasn't supposed to be here. No way that hadn't hurt. "I—Dean, I'm glad you're here. It's good to see you again. It's just—"

"I'm not him," Dean said quietly, firmly. He didn't sound upset, exactly, but Sam had been around Dean long enough to hear the layers of emotion hiding in his brother's voice. "Why did he leave?" Sam shook his head in denial, but Dean continued, "I found the note."

Sam blanched. "Honestly? I don't know." He gripped his mug and moved to sit across from Dean. "I don't know why he left. Or why he just left that shitty note." He paused. "Sorry," he said, as an afterthought.

Dean watched Sam bend over the books, trying to figure out a reversal spell that would send Dean back to his own time. They hadn't really talked at all, and Dean didn't know what to make of it. Sam refused to talk about the bloodstains on the comforter, and he seemed to be telling the truth when he said he didn't know why his Dean had walked. That said, Sam was definitely hiding something. He may not know the exact reason, but he knew a lot more than he was letting on. Unfortunately, the guy was dead set on "preserving the timeline" and nothing Dean had said over breakfast seemed able to dissuade him.

He tried to distract himself from checking out Sam by instead checking out the library. It was tough, though. Sam had filled out over the years and barely resembled the scrawny kid he'd driven to the bus station on his way to Palo Alto and a normal life. Dean clenched his jaw and turned back to the bookshelf in front of him. He recognized a few titles from Bobby's library, but most of the books he'd never heard of. There was no organization that he could make sense of, but that was probably because half the books were in languages he couldn't read. Sam probably could. He'd always had a better head for language than Dean, and with a decade to practice and pick up new ones, Dean would have been surprised if there were any books here Sam couldn't translate.

Peeking behind him, he studied Sam's broad shoulders. They were gorgeous, even if they were tense. Sam had obviously kept himself in shape over the years, and Dean wondered if getting wasted like last night was the norm now or not. Their dad had started going soft in the middle when his drinking kicked up after Sam had left, and it didn't look like that was happening to Sam's waist. But if it was new... It didn't matter because Sam didn't want his help. It had hurt when he'd realized that this morning, that Sam wanted the brother who had abandoned him.

It just didn't make sense. Sam hadn't hinted at anything, really. Just that the blood on the bed had been Dean's, not Sam's. Still a hunt gone wrong then, but Dean couldn't fathom what had possessed him to leave. Dean had been hurt before, plenty of times. He'd even been hurt because Sam or their dad made a mistake. But that's all they were, mistakes. He'd never held a grudge so hard that he'd walk on his family like this. It all spoke to something far more broken than he wanted to think about, because how could things have gone this wrong between him and Sam? Even in his own time, he would do anything to stay near Sam if his brother would let him.

Sam was muttering to himself and mixing ingredients. Looked like he'd found the spell he needed then.

Dean moved over to the table. He didn't do chick flick moments, but he couldn't just leave without saying something to comfort Sam. He cleared his throat, already feeling awkward. "Look, Sam. I—" He sighed, frustrated. "I don't know what the hell would make me walk out on you like that, but I can tell you this: I have always been proud of you. No matter what. Ok? I, uh, don't know that I'd ever have the nerve to tell you that if I wasn't currently Marty McFly." He hoped Sam understood. He knew he was never going to tell that to his little brother when they joined up. Too many emotions too close to the surface, still too fresh for both of them. But this Sam, well. He had distance from college, and it seemed like in the end he'd chosen Dean anyway. It made it easier, somehow.

Sam's eyes were wide, his expression something Dean wasn't sure how to interpret. Sad? Shocked? Relieved? Some bizarre combination of all that and more. Yeah. Clearly their family was still great at communication.

"Dean—" Sam stopped, obviously biting back whatever he'd been about to say. After a moment he started again. "Stanford was never about leaving you."

He pasted on a cocky grin, suddenly desperate to not show Sam how much his leaving still hurt, even two years later. Even if he had already known that it wasn't about him, that it had been about Sam needing to assert his independence from Dad and just the way those two personalities conflicted. Sam always needed an explanation for things; it was part of what had always made him great at research. Dad expected his sons to follow his lead, and Dean could admit that he provided explanations far less often than he maybe should. The difference had always been that Dean trusted their dad completely, and Sam didn't.

Sam had no idea how to explain to his brother how devastating it was to hear that parody of his Dean's dying words, spoken just a few weeks ago. It—He couldn't. Not without risking everything. For a moment he thought about it. Telling this Dean everything. There was no way his life could get worse than this miserable existence he was currently living, after all. But no, there was too much at stake. He might not end up in a worse version of his existence, but the world might. Lucifer, at least, was safely locked away, and Abaddon was dead. They had done that. No matter what he wanted personally, he had to keep the bigger picture in mind. Besides, his Dean had left him a note. While he couldn't fathom an explanation for that, he wasn't going to rest until he had one, until he found Dean.

He swallowed and clenched his jaw to keep himself from spilling everything. The only thing he trusted himself to give Dean in answer was a short nod, and he knew it wasn't enough. But it was all he had, so Dean would just have to deal with it. They could talk it out in a decade.

Turning back to the spell, he continued mixing components, narrowing his eyes as he tried to remember if he'd added the yarrow root yet or not. He surveyed the contents of the bowl. He... had. That powder looked like the yarrow. Moving on, he continued adding ingredients and chanting under his breath. He didn't look at Dean, didn't want to watch him disappear back to his own time, even though he knew it had to happen. With a flourish, he threw in the final herb and watched the surprisingly small puff of smoke rise and dissipate into nothing. It was done.

From behind him, he heard Dean ask, "Was that it? Because I'm still here, dude."

Sam's eyes flew open as he spun to see Dean still standing there, arms crossed and looking deeply unimpressed. "What? How—?" He turned back to his spell book and ingredients. The damn yarrow. Of course. Only.... No, he looked at the bottle, and it looked like he had definitely added it. Sam rummaged through the ingredients for a few more minutes, eyes darting between ingredients, bowl, and spell, until Dean put a hand on his shoulder.

"Sam, stop."

Sam stilled, about ready to throw something in frustration. No wonder he hadn't been able to find his Dean. He apparently couldn't do any magic right these days.

Dean spoke gently. "Look, you're tired, and you're obviously stressed out. Bobby always told us that magic is best done with a clear head, right? If I had to guess, that's about the worst description for you right now. Take a day. Let me help if I can. And then we'll figure out a way to get me home together." He paused, giving Sam a chance to answer that he didn't take. Dean sighed. "I'm sorry it didn't work."

Sam hung his head and leaned heavily on the table. "I'm sorry I keep letting you down."

He could almost feel Dean working to unpack that, trying to figure out what Sam was referring to. There was a long pause, and Sam wondered what Dean was thinking, if he was going to push Sam to talk again. After Jess's death, Dean had been a strange combination of pushy and hands off with Sam, trying to give him space until Sam pushed himself or Dean too far and Dean felt the need to prod answers out of him. It hadn't been overly effective then, and Sam didn't think it would work on him now.

Dean let his hand drop, though, without a word. Sam fought the urge to watch his brother leave the library, instead forcing his gaze to remain on the table in front of him.

Dean avoided Sam for the rest of the day. He prowled through the entirety of the bunker, exploring every nook and cranny he could find now that he wasn't drunk and exhausted, looking for any further clues as to his counterpart's whereabouts. He found the shooting range, the garage full of old cars (notably missing the Impala), the infirmary, and the archives. There was also the herb garden outside that looked like it had been recently plundered for Sam's spells. But mostly there were just seemingly endless dorm rooms, identical to the one he had slept in last night. One other looked and smelled like it had been used in the recent past, but it was just as plain and boring as the rest. No one had stayed there long enough to move in. Dean longed to see Sam's room, but there was a decent enough chance of finding Sam there that he didn't try.

Eventually, though, he found himself back in present Dean's room. It felt like home, even though he hadn't yet laid hands on most of the personal items in here. It still felt right, like it was tailor made to make him feel comfortable. He supposed it had been.

A simple survey wasn't going to cut it this time, though. He needed answers, and Sam was too reluctant to give them up. Looking around the room for the best place to start, he decided to be methodical. Each desk drawer was opened and rifled through, carefully catalogued and replaced before he moved on to the next one. There wasn't much. By the time he was done, he'd been most impressed by just how many shirts he'd managed to accrue now that he didn't have to cram them all in a duffel bag. But he also noted just how many things had been left behind. It hadn't caught his attention yesterday, but those pictures, at the very least, should be gone. This wasn't the room of someone who had decided they'd had enough and moved on. This Dean had left in a hurry. He wasn't sure what it meant, yet.

Further investigation yielded a lot of nothing. It looked more like future Dean had vanished than packed a bag, and Dean was struggling to come up with an explanation. Turning back to the bed, he did another survey. The whole thing was slightly rumpled, like someone had been laying on it. Ok. The blood was everywhere, but maybe more concentrated at the head of the bed. So, wounds, probably in the chest area. Dangerous, if they were deep enough, but there wasn't enough blood here to kill a man. He lay down, hoping by some miracle that looking at the room from his counterpart's perspective shortly before he'd left would provide some insight he'd been missing up to now.

The mattress molded itself to his body, easily the most comfortable thing he'd laid on in his entire life. For a moment he lay still, staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out what would make him leave a sweet place like this behind. Rolling over, he buried his head in the comfortable pillow, feeling exhaustion and the lingering effects of his hangover pulling him toward sleep, despite the weirdness of the situation. He breathed in deep and promptly gagged, rolling away from the pillow and coughing to clear the putrid smell. "Holy shit. What the hell is that?" he wondered to himself. Another, much more cautious, sniff revealed a lingering rotten egg smell. That was... weird. Everything here was weird. This, at least, was a weird thing he could take to Sam and demand an explanation for.

It took a while, but he eventually found Sam in the library on his third try. Wherever Sam had been before that was someplace Dean hadn't found yet. Maybe this place had magic changing rooms like Hogwarts.

Sam looked even worse than he had at breakfast. His hair was lank and greasy, and the bags under his eyes were darkening into bruises. Dean watched him quietly for a few minutes, keeping himself out of sight. He wasn't spying per se, just....observing. Who knows what secrets this Sam might reveal when he thought he was alone? In this case, just another indication that Winchesters were prone to alcoholism. After Sam poured out his third shot in ten minutes, Dean decided he needed to intervene before his brother wouldn't be able to answer any questions, at least not intelligibly.

"Day drinking? Seriously? I thought you didn't want to be like Dad," Dean said, putting on his most affronted face and voice.

Sam just lolled his head towards Dean, mind clearly already slowing down. Damn it. Sam must have had a few before Dean found him.

He sighed in frustration. "Fine. Look, just tell me why your Dean's bed smells like something died there, and I'll leave you to your liver poisoning, all right?"

A pained look crossed Sam's face, so grief-stricken that Dean almost told him to forget it. But then Sam said, "Because you died."

He continued babbling, but Dean wasn't listening anymore. There was a high-pitched ringing in his ears as he tried to process that, and in the meantime the rest of the world took on a surreal quality. In a decade, he would be dead. He always expected to die young, he did, just. Hearing it felt different somehow. Seeing his little brother like this was different. After Sam had left for Stanford and made it clear he didn't want or need his family to contact him Dean had made assumptions. Like how he would probably die in his twenties because he didn't have backup, or how Sam may never even know he was dead. Confronted with a grieving Sam who had been living with Dean for years was something unexpected and much more painful. The thought of Sam not knowing or caring had hurt, of course, but it was a different animal to see him grieving. He couldn't help but put himself in Sam's position. How well would he be handling it if Sam were dead?

Then he came back to the note. Sammy, let me go. He frowned, putting pieces together and not liking the picture that was emerging. Future Dean hadn't packed or taken anything, left those pictures behind too, and those had to be some of his most prized possessions. Left a note. And... had died. Shit.

"Sam? Did—" He swallowed, trying to figure out how to ask if he'd killed himself and if so, why.

Sam's brow furrowed in confusion, clearly not following Dean's train of thought.

He gave up. He couldn't ask. More than anything, he didn't want to know, but besides that he didn't want to make Sam relive it if he had committed suicide. He didn't want to watch Sam reliving it. And it didn't actually explain the smell. The Winchesters were familiar with death and the smells that went with it, and sulfur wasn't one of them. Another horrible thought crossed his mind, and he stumbled away from Sam.

"Dean?" Sam asked, instinctively reaching to stop Dean's retreat.

"How long were we on the road together?" His voice was shaky, praying that it wasn't true. The only things he could think of that involved sulfur in their lives were demons, and he'd heard plenty about what happened after you made a deal with one.

Sam hesitated, reticent as ever to divulge information about his past if it wasn't something Dean had experienced yet, but whatever expression Dean was wearing must have convinced him. Or maybe he just didn't care as much because of the alcohol, who knew. "Nine years. I started hunting again in 2005."

Dean racked his brain. That wasn't long enough, he thought. He certainly didn't have Sam's talents for encyclopedic knowledge, but he was no slouch when it came to knowledge about the supernatural. Everything Bobby or Pastor Jim or Caleb or their dad had said about the monsters out there was stored somewhere in his brain, and he was pretty sure he remembered something about ten years in connection with demons. Maybe he was wrong, though, because if he had died, and his pillow smelled like sulfur, there weren't a lot of other explanations.

"Dean, talk to me. What's going on?"

He couldn't chicken out of this question. "Did I make a demon deal to get you on the road with me?" His words came out in a rush, leaving him breathless and edging ever nearer to panic. No way would he do that. Right? He had accepted that Sam had left them. Had left him.

Sam looked shocked into silence, his mouth working to form an answer. When nothing appeared to be forthcoming, he resorted to slamming the shot of whiskey he'd poured before Dean interrupted him and pouring himself another. When he finally found his voice, it was rough and broken. "Why do you think you made a deal?"

Dean winced at how Sam refused to meet his eyes. He may not know this Sam as well as his own, but he knew how to read body language. Sam's Dean had obviously done some stupid shit in the past. "The pillow smells like sulfur. I know they're pretty far out of our league, but that means demons, right?"

Sam barked a laugh that was in no way funny. Dean swallowed hard, just a little afraid of the person his brother had turned into. Sam eventually knocked back a swallow of his whiskey and said, "Yeah, it does. The pillow smelled?"

Dean nodded and watched as Sam stalked to his brother's room.

Sulfur. But Crowley had no-showed that night, hadn't he? Sam had waited and waited in the dungeon, until finally he accepted that the demon wasn't coming and returned to his brother. Only Dean was long gone, leaving only that note behind. But if Sam had summoned Crowley to the bunker and he'd been in Dean's room... why would Dean's pillow smell? He flung open the door to Dean's room and grabbed the pillow, breathing deep. Gagging, he threw the pillow back on the bed. Definitely sulfur. It didn't make sense, but it was a lead that he didn't have before.

Sam's phone rang, the shrill noise piercing the silent room. Sam flinched at the sudden noise, but he pulled out his phone to glance at the caller ID. Cas. He sighed and dismissed the call. It was the third or fourth call he'd ditched from the angel today, and he knew he couldn't avoid his friend forever. He just wasn't ready to hear the "I told you so" that was inevitably coming his way. Besides, Cas couldn't help. Or if he could then he shouldn't. Sam wasn't sure exactly how stolen grace worked, but he'd seen how weak Cas was these days. He'd even caught the angel sleeping a few times, to his dismay. If Cas offered to fix Sam's mistake by sending Dean back to the past where he belonged, then Sam would have to stop him. Dean needed to go back, of course, but not at the expense of the last of Cas's strength. Besides, Dean wasn't supposed to know about angels for a few more years. If he met Cas, who knows what would get screwed up. Later. He'd call Cas later and fill him in, tell him to make himself scarce until he heard from Sam.

Sam turned back to the bed. Reverently, he touched the comforter, the last place he'd seen his brother's body. He had to check. Drawing close, he sniffed. Yes, buried under the metallic tang of blood and the gun oil smell Sam always associated with Dean there was sulfur. He closed his eyes. That was probably a really bad sign.

For the next few minutes, Sam sniffed everything in the room, finding more sulfur on the chair beside the bed but nowhere else. Crowley must have been in here. Sam could practically see him in his mind's eye, sitting in the chair beside Dean's dead body. The options for why Dean's body had disappeared and left behind the smell of sulfur on the sheets were disappointingly limited. Ok, there was one that Sam knew of, and even thinking about some demon riding Dean's dead body around the world being Crowley's lackey made his blood boil.

He sighed and clenched his jaw in frustration. Before he could fix that he needed to deal with his mistake and get this other version of Dean out of here.

"What did you find?" Dean's voice behind him startled Sam badly, and he spun, eyes wide in panic.

After a moment during which he tried to bury his reaction as far down as he could, he said, "Not much. Just confirmed what you said."

"Sam, what the hell did I do?"

Sam didn't turn and look at Dean, couldn't stand to. This Dean sounded so young. Like it was barely conceivable that he would make a deal to keep his brother close, and he looked devastated at the thought that he'd done just that. Sam wanted to comfort him, but he couldn't find the words. Because Dean did do those things, had made deals like that. Just not the one he was currently accusing himself of making. "You didn't make a deal to get me out of school." That, at least, was a true statement, and it made Sam breathe a little easier. If he had made that deal, then he wouldn't have had anything left to bargain with when Sam died in Cold Oak. Now he just needed to figure out how to break the rest of it to him. Or not. This was still a terrible idea.

Dean made a noise of frustration, slamming his fist into the wall and making Sam flinch hard. "Damn it, Sam, I know I did something. And don't give me that crap about not changing the timeline, because seriously? You want to preserve this? You're miserable and drunk, and I'm dead. Who knows where Dad even is since you won't talk about him. What exactly are you trying to protect here?"

Sam closed his eyes, taking slow, deep breaths in an effort to calm himself. Dean didn't know. He couldn't know. But... he needed to know. Sam was always being told how strong he was, but he knew the truth. He was a weak man who would do anything for the brother he loved more than anything else in the world. "There's always a chance it turns out worse. You understand that, right? If I tell you anything, there's a chance that it all goes to hell faster and worse than it did anyway."

"I don't care. I can't help you if you keep me in the dark like this." He sounded determined, confident. Sam knew it was mostly bravado, but it confirmed his own resolve to throw caution to the wind.

"We should get comfortable then. This is a long story."

Dean was numb, trying to process everything Sam had told him. They had saved the world—that, he finally understood, was the outcome Sam was most concerned about preserving. But the cost had been... He scrubbed a hand down his face. They'd lost so many people. There were holes in the story, of course, and Dean didn't want to ask, didn't want to know for sure, but he was pretty sure their dad was long dead. Sam had stopped talking about him early on. It was good to know they'd killed the thing that destroyed their family, at least. That was something. And they'd met their mom. Because apparently time travel was a thing they did now. Dean was not thrilled to hear that they'd already tried to change the past without success, but maybe this time it would work? Maybe not. Sam had made it sound like there had been a lot of manipulation going on behind the scenes by both Heaven and Hell, and Dean had trouble believing Heaven actually existed. According to Sam it was a pretty shitty place, though. Which was another thing. Sam hadn't said it explicitly, but Dean could read between the lines well enough. At some point Sam had died too.

That was the worst part.

He couldn't imagine it. Sam had implied that deals had been made, people brought back to life, and he knew. If his little brother had died, then he would absolutely make that deal. Leaving Sam dead, living without him, was not an option. It was different with him at school. Dean might be lonely, but he could see Sam on campus whenever he was in California. Had, more than once. It hurt, but not like this. Which was ridiculous, because Sam was sitting across from him, perfectly healthy.

Sam was also patiently waiting for a response beyond deafening silence and complete shock.

Dean tried to pull himself together. "Remind me again why you didn't want to mess up the timeline?"

Sam chuckled darkly. "We're alive. Or, we were. And we saved the world against all odds. That's worth something."

"Yeah. But." Dean closed his eyes again, let himself really feel the grief over losing his brother that he knew Sam had to be feeling right now too. "What happened before I got here? Where am I? You said I died, but you were doing a summoning spell. Where did you think you were summoning me from?"

Sam looked away, chagrined. "I don't know. I was desperate. Considering the sulfur you found, I think a demon took you." Or your body. Sam didn't have to say it for Dean to hear the unspoken caveat.

He nodded. "One more question, then I swear I'm done asking. You never mentioned—" He trailed off, unsure how to ask. "After your—After you left Stanford. Was there anyone—?" He needed to know, though he wasn't sure why. It was hardly important in the grand scheme. Still, the two of them had been together, living and hunting and sharing space, for almost a decade. And Dean hadn't met anyone else yet in this place. It gave him hope that he wasn't sure he deserved to have.

Before Sam could answer, the door at the top of the stairs crashed open and a man in a beige trench coat shouted, "Sam?"

Sam startled badly at the sound of the door opening, but he didn’t look surprised when he heard the voice. Interesting.

Dean followed Sam out of the library reluctantly, keeping his distance.

"Hey, Cas," Sam said.

Dean appraised the new guy. He looked disheveled, tired. Almost as worn out as Sam. His dark hair was a mess, and even from a distance Dean could see the worry on his face dissipate when he spotted Sam. Even more interesting. He didn't think the tax accountant look would be his brother's type, but maybe it was one-sided. The way the guy looked at Sam definitely spoke of something more than simple friendship, anyway.

"You weren't answering your phone." The guy, Cas, sounded out of breath, and his concern was palpable. "I thought—"

Sam seemed to understand, though Dean didn't. "It's ok. I'm sorry I didn't answer. I've just been busy." He gestured slightly behind him, presumably to indicate Dean's presence. Which meant, what? That Sam hadn't wanted to tell this guy he'd done a spell and dragged his brother ten years into the future? Yeah, ok, that was probably fair. Dean wouldn't have wanted to advertise that either.

Dean watched as Cas's eyes tracked behind Sam, searching, and when they finally landed on Dean, the difference was startling. Cas's face was slack, totally shocked. "Dean? How? Where—?" He approached a few steps and stopped short, looking sharply at Sam. "What did you do?"

Dean didn't appreciate this guy taking that tone with his brother and stepped forward, starting to say, "Hey—" when Sam cut him off.

"It's fine, Dean. He's right. You don't belong here, and we all know it." He sighed. "I did that spell. The one you said wouldn't work."

Cas searched Sam's face a moment, then turned to get a closer look at Dean. Dean bristled, uncomfortable under the intense scrutiny. He wasn't sure what the guy was looking for, but he eventually turned back to Sam with a disappointed sigh. "Sam."

Dean watched his brother crumple at that, and it hurt. Sam managed to recompose himself quickly though, something Dean had seen him do too many times in the last 24 hours. He had never wanted his little brother to turn into this hard man who could break with a single word and rebuild himself in moments, burying whatever pain he was experiencing so deep it was like it was never there. Sam was supposed to be loud and angry about hunting and, more than anything else, happy. "I had to do something. We were out of leads."

Cas pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry. This is just—I can't send him back."

Sam nodded, as if he'd been expecting this. "Cas, even if you could, I wouldn't let you. We'll figure something out. Obviously, he can't stay, but we'll find something else. I was never going to let you do that to yourself."

Smiling with weary fondness, Cas replied, "I appreciate your concern, Sam, but I'm fine, I promise."

It was such a Winchester line that Dean had to wonder how long this guy had been part of their lives.

Sam ignored it, however, and just continued talking. "I think we have something, though." He glanced backwards at Dean, then back to Cas. "Demons. In Dean's room. I assume the night he disappeared."

"Crowley?"

Sam shrugged. "I assume so. I think—" He turned back to Dean, obviously hesitant about saying the next part in his presence. "I think he had someone possess Dean."

Dean started, surprised. That...would explain the smell on the pillow. It was a horrifying thought though, his body running around with a demon in it. "How do we find them?" he asked, surprising even himself when he spoke.

Sam and Cas both turned to look at him.

"What? I may not know who this Crowley is, but I know I don't want some demon running around in my body. So how do we find them? Demons aren't that common, so it shouldn't be too hard, right?"

Sam and Cas shared a look, then Sam said, "Yeah. You remember how I told you some of what happened to us? I... may have left a few things out." He gulped. "There are a lot of demons out and about these days. They're pretty much the only thing we hunt anymore."

Cas rolled his eyes. "You told him? How much?"

That raised Sam's hackles. "Does it matter? We've never successfully changed history before, why should I expect that we'll start now? And if we did, would that be such a bad thing? Dean is dead, Cas. And I want my brother back. If telling this Dean a little bit of what happens gets me a living, breathing brother, then I'll take it and screw the consequences."

Cas balked. "Sam, you can't mean that. What about Lu-"

"I beat him before, and I'll beat him again if I have to." Sam's eyes glittered with defiance, and Dean grinned, glad to see that some of Sam's spirit was still in there somewhere.

The three of them sat around the table in the kitchen, and Dean couldn't stop glancing from Sam to Castiel and back. "He's an angel? You're shitting me, right? Angels don't exist."

Sam laughed at Castiel's scowl. "Yeah, that's pretty much what you said the first time you met him. Hate to break it to you, but they do. So do a lot of other things."

"Unicorns?"

Sam shrugged. "Not as far as we know, but it wouldn't be the weirdest thing we've encountered."

"Do I want to know what tops that list?"

Sam thought about it for a second. There were a lot of good possibilities, from the Leviathans to actual dragons. But there was one that still made him chuckle when he thought about it. "Fairies. Masquerading as aliens."

Dean blinked. "What?"

"You zapped Tinkerbell in a microwave, dude."

"You're lying."

"I'm really not. The point is, angels barely even register on the weird scale these days." Sam sat back, relaxing at the normal banter with his brother. He'd missed this. The warm grin Dean sent his way didn’t hurt either.

Grumbling with annoyance, Cas spoke up. "What do we plan to do about Crowley?"

Sam considered their options. There weren't many. "I could summon him again, but that didn't work the first ten times. No reason to assume it'll work now. We might be able to find a locator spell?"

Castiel shook his head. "If there was a useful one, wouldn't we have used it already? You've been through every book in this place twice, at least."

Dean was unusually quiet as he nursed his third beer. Sam smirked a little at that. He hadn't expected to introduce Dean to his favorite beer. He hadn't realized Dean had only started drinking it sometime after their Dad died. Finally, he spoke. "So we look again. If summoning isn't going to work, then we have to find him some other way. I'm sure the two of you will figure it out."

Sam rolled his eyes. "What, trying to duck out of research? Seriously? When I got back on the road with you, you had a hell of a chip on your shoulder about being able to do research too."

Dean shrugged, grinning. "What can I say? I was probably just trying to make you feel useful, Sammy."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

The nicknames fell easily from their mouths, and Sam didn't bother hiding his grin. God, things hadn't felt like this with Dean in too long.

"Come on. Fresh eyes might find something I missed. You and Cas are on library duty, and I'll see if I can find signs of demonic activity that might be Crowley."

Dean tossed another book in a foreign language onto Castiel's pile. "Remind me to call Sam a nerd later. I bet he can read all of these."

The angel didn't even look up, just kept reading the book he was going through, something in ancient Aramaic. "Sam is a remarkable linguist these days, but I am unsure how much is due to his status as a 'nerd'."

Feigning nonchalance, Dean said, "Then what is it due to?"

This time, Cas did look up, his gaze sharp. "Most likely his proficiency with so many languages despite very little time in which to study them is due to his high levels of exposure to archangels and their grace. His fluency in Enochian certainly is. Then again, I am aware that Sam's sleeping habits leave much to be desired. Perhaps he is, as you say, a 'nerd'."

Dean tried to parse Cas's words into something that made sense, because he was pretty sure there was an important revelation in there somewhere. The problem was that the angel was even more cryptic than Sam. Where Sam had simply refused to answer, Castiel answered as though Dean hadn't jumped forward a decade in time. Every damn sentence was full of information that Dean was missing the background for, and it was getting annoying. The angel, of course, seemed to be infinitely amused by it. Deciding to put a pin in it until later—maybe he could ask Sam about the time he spent around archangels or why he didn't sleep enough—Dean flipped open another book. This one was in English, at least, and he settled in to read.

Four hours later, he was ready to throw all the books across the room. Cas was right, there was nothing here. Then again, Sam had been the one to pull these books for them, and as they'd previously established, Sam hadn't been able to find an answer. Dean stood and stretched, then went to find Sam. Holed up by himself in his room, of course. "Hey."

Sam jumped at Dean's voice, and Dean hated it. He wondered if his 2014 counterpart knew how jumpy Sam was, or if Sam did a better job of hiding it when he expected Dean to be around. "Hey, Dean. You guys find anything?"

"Not yet." Dean leaned against the doorframe. "Hey, is there a card catalog or something? I didn't see one in the library, but I figured a giant nerd like you would have some sort of filing system."

Sam looked surprised, but only for a moment. Probably remembering that Dean didn't know everything Sam expected him to. "Yeah. It's just— Let me show you. This place is kind of a maze sometimes."

"What, like Hogwarts?"

Sam shot him a disbelieving look, then said, "Less 'the staircases move' and more 'there might be a minotaur I haven't discovered yet.'"

"Got it. You know, I did find my way around ok earlier. It didn't seem that bad to me."

Sam chuckled despite himself. "Most of the main floor is fine. The basement is where things get tricky."

"Wait, this place has a basement?" Just knowing there was an entire floor to the building that Dean hadn't even found yet set his mind running down a dozen different tangents, at least half of them involving doing inappropriate things to his not so little brother. Maybe there was a sex dungeon hiding somewhere. No. No, he reminded himself. There was no way he and Sam were like that. Sam would have said something by now, right?

Dean read the spell three times before he showed it to Cas and made him read it. "I'm not crazy, right? That'll track a demon, any demon, so long as we know their real name?"

Cas nodded, slowly, rereading the spell. "Yes. This will work. Go get Sam."

Sam wasn't in his room, which immediately set Dean's big brother radar into overdrive. Doing a quick lap of the upstairs rooms didn't yield an overgrown little brother, so Dean ventured into the basement. Maybe Sam was looking something up in the card catalog. Or maybe he was bored and thought trying to find a minotaur in his basement would make a good distraction. "Sam?" he called, trying to remember the order of turns Sam had taken last time.

There was no answer, but that didn't mean much. He'd seen himself how big this place was. Luckily, Dean was good with directions and found the card catalog and library overflow pretty easily. Unluckily, Sam was nowhere to be seen. "Damn it, Sammy. Where the hell are you?"

He could search the rest of the basement, but something told him that would be a waste of time. Trying to think like Sam was harder when his information was a decade out of date, but it shouldn't be this difficult. Then it hit him. There was one room upstairs that Dean had skipped over entirely, assuming Sam wouldn't have bothered to go in there. Of course he was wrong.

Dean's—other Dean's—door was closed, but he knew Sam was in there. It sucked. He couldn't exactly tell his brother not to grieve for him, but at the same time, Dean was here and alive right now. Steeling himself, Dean opened the door.

Sam was curled up on the bed, face buried in the sheets.

"Found something. Cas thinks it'll work." Dean's voice was rough. No way was he calling Sam on the fact that his shoulders were shaking with sobs as he lay there, even if he kind of wanted to. Without even waiting for acknowledgement, Dean retreated to the library.

Sam joined them a few minutes later. He looked even worse than when Dean had found him last night, but he brightened as soon as he read through the spell. Cas had already started to gather the spell components, and in a matter of minutes they had a location.

Dean drove. Sam protested, but he was in no condition to drive. At the very least, this was a way Dean could help. Sure enough, less than an hour into the trip Sam was fast asleep in the passenger seat. He stayed that way until they arrived at a motel in Beulah, North Dakota. Crowley was in town somewhere, hopefully staying put, but Dean figured they could use a base of operations while they looked. According to Sam, while there were signs that a demon was in the area, nothing suspicious had been reported, which meant Crowley was keeping quiet. You know, for a demon.

Sam blinked awake when the car turned off, and Dean tossed him a room key. "You still look like hammered crap, but at least you got some sleep."

"Thanks." The sarcasm in Sam's voice rivaled his teenage self, and it made Dean grin.

"Come on. I figure you can get set up doing your geek thing looking for this Crowley dude, and I'll go grab us some dinner. Saw a roadhouse on the way in that looked good."

Sam didn't disagree, so Dean chalked it up as a win. Maybe his brother had just needed to be on the road again to start taking care of himself again.

The roadhouse was exactly Dean's kind of place. It was full of people and the smell of beer and fried food, and it even had a karaoke stage. Maybe once they were done with Crowley, he'd be able to drag Sam out for a beer or two. Probably not, but Dean could hope. He'd pay good money to see his brother doing karaoke. Speaking of, Dean leaned against the bar to watch the atrocious singing while he waited for his to-go order. What he saw made his insides freeze.

Up on stage was him. 2014 Dean. Or the demon riding him, anyway. Fuck. He considered calling Sam, but quickly tossed that idea away. Sam was too broken up, never mind sleep deprived and probably malnourished. Then again, Dean didn't exactly have a lot of experience dealing with demons. The song ended, and Dean made his decision. The demon had apparently decided that he was going to perform all evening and stayed on stage as the next song started. Perfect. It gave Dean time to grab some gear from the trunk.

Ten minutes later, the demon was booed off the stage and started to make his way outside, following some girl that had caught Dean's eye too. That was when Dean made his move. Ducking out the door first, he waited until the demon exited the building before dragging him around the corner and out of sight of prying eyes. Shoving the guy away from him, he pulled out his dad's journal and flipped it open to the exorcism he'd bookmarked.

"Exorcizamus te—"

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," the demon said, glaring at him.

Dean paused, then against his better judgment asked, "Why the hell not?"

The demon grinned and leaned in to say, "Because I'm not just some random demon, Deano." Then, without any warning he drew his fist back and threw a punch hard enough to make Dean see stars.

Dean rolled across the ground from the force of the punch and scrambled back to his feet, knowing he had made a mistake. He was way out of his league, and he found himself wishing Sam was here to bail his ass out. Rubbing his jaw with the back of his hand, he said, "Sure you are. Just a black-eyed bitch borrowing a body that doesn't belong to you. Time to vacate the premises."

The demon just laughed at his bravado. "See, that is where you're wrong. I'm not borrowing anything. This body is mine, and I don't mean that in a 'finders keepers' way. Welcome to your future, Dean. I'm you."

That stopped Dean in his tracks. "What?"

The pause gave the demon a chance to launch another attack, and Dean was too stunned to properly defend himself. The next minute or so was a blur until he found himself in a chokehold while his phone rang. Sam. No one else in this decade had his number.

Effortlessly keeping Dean pinned, the demon reached into Dean's pocket, pulled out his phone and answered it. "Thought I told you to let me go."

Dean heard Sam say something, but the response was muffled.

"Sorry, I'm a little tied up right now. Or is it he? Time travel makes pronouns so difficult, don't you think?" Another pause where Sam shouted something at the demon, and the demon rolled his eyes. "Oh, Sammy, what did you think was going to happen? Did you seriously think the Mark was going to let me die?"

Despite the spots that were starting to dance in Dean's vision, hearing this thing call his brother Sammy made something snap inside him. With an unexpected strength, he broke the demon's grip and slammed his fist into his older self's face. Whipping out the runed cuffs he'd grabbed from the trunk, he slapped them on the demon's wrists and said, "You don't get to call him that."

The shock on the demon's face was almost comical, and Dean reveled in his win for just a moment before picking up the phone from where it had fallen. "Hey, Sammy. I got him. We'll be back in ten."

Back at the bunker, Dean and Sam walked into the library, and Sam poured them each a drink.

Dean sipped his and shook his head in disbelief. "I can't believe you have a freaking dungeon, man."

Sam chuckled.

"Seriously, though. What're you going to do with him?" Asking for information about his own future was probably asking for more trouble, but he had to know.

Sam waved him off. "Don't worry. We, uh, we figured out how to 'cure' demons a while ago. You'll be ok."

"Right." Dean took another, bigger sip. "Dude, your lives are weird."

This time Sam gave him a heartfelt laugh. "Seriously, though, thank you. I couldn't have done this without you."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "Yes, you could."

Sam smirked. "Yeah, well, I don't want to."

Feeling like he was missing an inside joke, Dean changed the subject. "So, we got your Dean back. What are we going to do about me?"

Dropping his gaze, Sam said, "I actually have an idea about that. There's a blood spell that our grandfather used to time travel to us last year that should work."

"Seriously? Did you just forget about that?"

"No, not really. But I was trying to preserve the timeline, remember? The way this spell works, blood calls to blood, and the person using it walks through a door next to a blood relative."

Immediately catching his brother's train of thought, Dean said, "Yeah, I doubt Dad would take that very well."

"And you didn't pay me a visit in 2004 that I'm aware of, so—"

"What changed?"

Sam shrugged, then he shot Dean a look that was unreadable. "You."

Wondering again if things were that different in 2014 than his own time, Dean said, "Me, huh?"

Sam smiled shyly, then said, "I just need to figure out how to direct the spell so you don't end up at the wrong end of Dad's gun."

"You're sending me to you?" Dean wasn't sure if he should hope or not, but he couldn't help the lightness in his chest at Sam's fond look.

"Yeah, I am." Sam shrugged again, but Dean could hear the unspoken statement that the future might already be screwed over because of everything Dean had learned. What was one more change?

Finding the answer Sam needed on how to direct the spell wasn't hard, and an hour later they were standing in front of a door painted in Sam's blood while Dean chanted. The sigil glowed, and Dean fell silent.

"I guess this is goodbye, huh?" Dean said, not looking at Sam. He wanted to know, wanted to ask, but his older self was down in the basement, and that guy was going to have to deal with the consequences of any revelations Dean made right now.

"Hey," Sam said, placing a gentle hand on Dean's cheek and turning his face until they were looking at each other. Then he leaned in, kissing Dean hard and dirty. For one shocked moment Dean froze before his brain and body got with the program and kissed back. Too soon, Sam pulled back, leaving them both breathless. Smirking, Sam said, "Go get him, tiger."

Dean grinned and opened the door.

He walked into a bedroom he didn't recognize but which didn't scream "Sam" to him. There was a floral comforter on the queen bed and sheer blinds on the windows. The sunlight streaming through the window combined with the yellow paint to bathe the room in a soft summer glow. It was too clean and small for a motel, but too impersonal to belong to someone. And, contrary to what Sam had told him about how the spell worked, Dean was alone. It gave Dean an opportunity to keep things the way Sam remembered them, if he wanted to, but the memory of Sam's lips on his still burned into his skin, and he knew he wasn't leaving here without seeing his little brother.

There was a choked noise from the hallway, and there was Sam, damp from a shower and looking almost exactly as Dean expected, just a little leaner, a little more mature. A far cry from the broken—but healing—man he'd just left behind. "Dean? What the hell are you doing in my closet?"

Dean laughed and said, "Dude, you will not believe the week I just had." Then he strode over to his little brother and kissed him like his future depended on it.

#wincestbigbang #sam/dean #fic i wrote

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artificialqueens · 4 years

Text

Papillionlisse 3/6 (Gigi x Nicky / Jan x Jackie] - Pinkgrapefruit

[ chapter three ]

She slams herself against the back of the dorm doors, pushing it closed and humming to herself in happiness. She walked past Jan and Jackie studying at the coffee table in front of the warm fire, so they’re not in the room, but Crystal is - hunched and wrapped in her duvet, whispering charms to herself as she does wand movements with her fingers.

“If you two fuck tonight you better silence yourselves or so help me,” The brunette mutters, not breaking focus from the piece of parchment she’s wandlessly setting on fire, dousing, flying up and down and rolling up.

Gigi giggles in response. She’s the only one of them that’s vaguely relaxed and god help her, she’s going to enjoy it for as long as she can.

[harry potter hogwarts/beauxbaton au]

A/N - i love these babies so much!!! dedicated to molly for her adorable support and frey for being the greatest beta the world’s ever seen. Enjoy!

“I cannot believe I’m sharing a dorm room with two couples,” Crystal groans, her chin slipping off her hand and face falling onto the down duvet cover. She’s sprawled across her own double bed, Gigi and Nicky lounging on Gigi’s bed and Jackie and Jan on their end bed. It’s a Sunday, so none of them have any commitments although exams are coming up, and if Jackie hadn’t been pulled away from her textbooks, she would have been swallowed whole.

“I cannot believe I have to take your bloody exams,” Nicky raises her head off Gigi to whine before flopping back down. Gigi gently strokes her hand up and down the girls exposed forearm in a soothing motion as Crystal guffaws.

“Yeah, and you’ll beat us all,” Jan responds. She’s flicking flashcards above her head, using a floating charm and a lot of faith despite the room choosing this as a no-study time.

“Jan, chill.”

“Can’t. Care of Magical Creatures is a practical exam and I can only do it once.”

Most of the exams are just mocks - precursors to the actual exams that will be faced at the end of seventh year, but few, such as astronomy and care of magical creatures, go straight towards the end grade, which only stand to terrify the sixth years into actually studying. Some professions such as healer also require a proficiency test taken in the Summer, so Crystal frets quietly while Gigi teaches her the charms that never quite stuck (including a non-permanent sticking charm).

“Jan, you won’t fail, baby. You’re so good at it. And you talk about kneazles and nifflers in your sleep,” Jackie tries to soothe, forcing a sherbet lemon into the girl’s mouth, which breaks her focus and leaves the cards to fall on top of the two of them.

“Two weeks!” Crystal announces sarcastically.

“Two weeks. We’ve got this,” Nicky says staunchly. “Ou que dieu m'aide.”

“Want to go on a final Hogsmeade date before exams?” Gigi asks as she leans over the back of Nicky’s chair. She places the sharp point of her chin on Nicky’s shoulder and breathes in her coconut shampoo. Nicky turns as far as she can in the solid wooden chair, placing a chaste kiss on her cheek.

“Of course, chérie.” Gigi flushes at the pet name - taken back to that night in the library as she looks over the table of scrolls and tomes of transfiguration and the tiny little pin cushions she’s using as practice.

“I’ll pick you up?” She likes the intrigue - they might share a bed, but she was raised on good old fashioned American rom coms - ‘You’ve Got Mail’ and ‘Sleepless in Seattle’. She refuses to give all that up. She’s going to take her lady on a good date if it kills her.

“I’d like that,” Nicky says, her voice low and more seductive than Gigi can handle.

“Come to bed soon,” Gigi whispers, lips pressed under Nicky’s ear. Nicky hums in agreement and Gigi feels it vibrate under her lips. She pulls herself away, making sure to walk away nicely just in case, before she slinks back down to the Hufflepuff dorms.

Gigi giggles in response. She’s the only one of them that’s vaguely relaxed and god help her, she’s going to enjoy it for as long as she can.

Nicky rolls into bed much later than she’s promised. Her fingers smell like new paper and her hair is loosely braided down her back, and Gigi pulls her against her chest immediately. Crystal (out of prior experience) has her curtains pulled around her, as do Jan and Jackie (although that’s entirely for their benefit), so they pull theirs too, so they can silence the area.

The second it’s secure, Nicky’s lips latch on to Gigi’s pulse point, the blonde straddling the girl’s hips without saying a word. She slips her cold fingers under her shirt, feeling the warm, taut skin of Gigi’s navel under her fingertips. Gigi shivers and giggles, leaning forward to capture Nicky in a searing kiss, hands moving down to hold the blonde’s behind, pulling her further on top.

Nicky lets out a slew of French curses as Gigi runs a finger down the curve of her spine.

“YOU’RE NOT FUCKING SILENCED,” Crystal yells across the room, and Nicky collapses on top of Gigi. She’s not embarrassed - not in the same way that Gigi immediately flushes red - clear even in the dark. Nicky slinks down the brunette’s body pressing a finger to her lips as she hooks her other hand into Gigi’s shorts.

She peppers kisses on Gigi’s now exposed stomach, pushing her nails into the girl’s thigh when she’s struggling to keep quiet and hoping - really hoping, Crystal will forget it tomorrow.

Gigi wakes up at the crack of dawn, grateful that Nicky seems to have tuckered herself out studying last night and isn’t yet rousing.

She somehow manages to roll out from under the French woman (she’s not quite sure how, but she’s glad) and pads to the bathroom to try and get ready. She’s practically vibrating with excitement, as she brushes her teeth and pulls her hair back into a low ponytail. She pulls on a Slytherin green tank top, a pair of shorts, and a black flannel, because it’s getting unsettlingly warm even for late May, and sets her black combat boots quietly by the door - making sure to shove her purse and her wand into her rucksack before she moves to wake her still sleeping partner.

She pauses before waking the blonde gently, picking Quaffle up from where he’d slunk in to fill the warm spot Gigi had left. She snaps a picture of them asleep together first, though, animating it, so it moves like all wizarding photos and she can watch her two loves snooze together. It’s stupidly cute.

Nicky manages to look pristine on a morning, so they exchange a chaste kiss and the French girl heads into the bathroom for a quick change and to brush her teeth. She comes out with her hair out of the braids, curly down her back, and a pale blue gingham dress that ends mid thigh. She pairs it with a pair of Gigi’s white converse that she’s basically stolen, and they leave a note, so the rest of the girls won’t worry. The gates from the boundary of Hogwarts to Hogsmeade open at eight a.m. on a Saturday, so they head out of the castle immediately. The walk is a leisurely forty-five minute stroll over fields and gently rolling paths or a twenty minute thestral carriage ride, but considering the fact it’s only half past seven, they take the time to walk hand in hand. It’s already warm and sunny outside, and the light licks the soft spattering of freckles on Nicky’s shoulders.

Their first stop is breakfast pastries and coffee at Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Room, and they get to sit at a cute little window table with armchairs that gives them a perfect view of the rest of the students as they trickle into the small station town. Nicky sips her latte as Gigi rather messily eats a danish pastry, letting the crumbs fall down onto her lap. Nicky leans forward to kiss the icing off her bottom lip, and the brunette flushes scarlet as once again her girlfriend has zero public shame.

They take ice cold smoothies to go as the sun seemingly refuses to feel remorse today, and walk hand in hand over to the shrieking shack, where Gigi educated the blonde on the history of Remus Lupin. They learn about him now in defense as one of the greats and his memorial is outside the shack. It’s one of those things Gigi finds fascinating, so she dives into every detail she knows, and by the end of the story they’re both warm and maybe a little more tanned and laughing at old stories of The Marauders her uncle told her.

They wander back to the town with sweaty hands intertwined, aiming to visit a few shops before lunch, and then sunbathe for the rest of the afternoon - maybe meeting up with Jan and Jackie if they venture out.

They head into Honeydukes first, stocking up on a few goodie bags for Crystal (one as an apology, one as exam treats, and one just because), sugar quills enough to carry them through the coming month, and some sweet treats for an end of exam slumber party.

Next, they head into Scrivenshaft’s stationary shop where Nicky picks up enough supplies to write a couple of letters. They sit on the benches outside with cold sodas Gigi collects from The Three Broomsticks as Nicky writes her letters. If she finishes them here, she can send them from the town post office instead of carrying them back up to the owelry. Nicky makes her girlfriend slather thick suncream on her exposed shoulders and back with the claims that her delicate french skin will burn without it. Gigi just chuckles. Nicky may have gorgeous freckles, but she’s also a golden tan colour that makes Gigi envious.

They end up in Zonkos just before lunch, so that Gigi can buy a new shade button - the last unfortunately murdered in the Shower Incident of ‘09. She can neither confirm nor deny her involvement, but she feels guilty, so she shells out a few knuts and even gets it gift wrapped in a cute paper covered in tiny snitches.

They end up meeting Jackie and Jan for lunch at The Three Broomsticks - the girls relaxing on a bench outside as they eat onion rings and burgers while sipping butterbeer. It feels like the perfect Summer day, and it makes Gigi feel like she could float away even though they all complain about feeling full.

They don’t have to walk far to find a quiet field to lie down in, and they end up just relaxing on the grass for hours, tanning and chatting and falling in love.

Crystal and the Gryffindor she’s been seeing for a few weeks stop by, and she looks so happy that they just let her carry on her way.

They only really start to contemplate leaving as the 4 p.m. breeze carries the straggling humidity across the open fields. They manage to catch a thestral carriage and cuddle up in the seats, folded into each other as Nicky falls asleep on Gigi’s outstretched arm. She presses a kiss to her forehead and the blond mewls, burying her face into the crook of Gigi’s neck.

A perfect day.

Their breakfast on Monday morning is both sluggish and high strung. Jan looks like she’s about to start crying any second - her care of magical creatures practical assessment happening in only an hour or so. Crystal is still mumbling wandless charms under her breath as she stirs her tea just by staring at it and butters her toast. Nicky is practically asleep on Gigi’s shoulder, having pulled almost an all-nighter for the potions exam on Wednesday. She’d clearly outlined her exam rules a few weeks ago in which she fully condoned all-nighters, as long as they weren’t the night before an actual exam.

She’d decided, since the charms exam was scheduled for four p.m., she could nap before it and all would be well. Gigi just blindly trusted her, knowing she would spend the rest of the day convincing Crystal nothing would explode.

Jackie stirs her coffee methodically, twice forward and once backwards, as she stares at astronomy charts she’s copied onto flashcards. She wordlessly feeds Jan a toast crust, and the blonde chews it robotically before going back to staring at the table.

“We can do this,” Jackie mumbles under her breath, looking at them like she’s making sure they’re all still alive.

Jan still looks close to vomiting, but she smiles weakly and nods, holding Crystal’s hand and giving it a squeeze.

“Team dumb with no talent, let’s go,” Crystal jokes, and the table just chuckles.

The rest of the hall is the same. The whole of sixth year looks like they want to drop dead over their porridge, Vanessa silent for the first time since OWLS, and Violet only hitting on the people closest to her, instead of flirting across the whole hall.

The bell for the first period goes off, and they all sit up straight.

“Into battle,” quips Nicky, and Gigi squeezes her arm. They’re all going to be just fine.

Fine might be an overstatement, Gigi realises as they come into the second week of exams.

They trade note cards and words of encouragement in between practical assessments, written work, and careers guidance meetings as if this fortnight isn’t already hellish. They may fall into bed together and wake up around the same time, but it actually takes more effort to see each other than it would usually with specialised study sessions running at all places at all times of the night. Astronomy study lasts from midnight to 2 a.m. every few days, so Jackie and Nicky crawl out of bed some days looking like zombies.

Crystal jokes one day that this has finally affirmed that Nicky is in fact human, and as much as Gigi wants to laugh, her girlfriend has never looked so exhausted, so instead she just pulls her close and turns her old notes into paper butterflies as a transfiguration practice. They all have to pick an origami shape to perfect and show, and since Gigi picked butterflies, the dorm is filling up with them. Nicky chose little birds, which she releases out the window, and Crystal decided scorpions would be fun, which she tosses into the fire as kindling.

Jackie perfected a phoenix, despite only taking the class part time, because she’s insane.

They tell her as much.

Jan just stretches and curls up into a ball around Quaffle. Neither of them have ever cared for transfiguration.

Gigi sits with Nicky outside the practical for potions when the stress finally hits her. She feels like she’s been boiled alive in a pressure cooker and someone’s just cracked open the lid, so the steam is finally being released as she sobs into the French girl’s waiting arms. Nicky chuckles softly to herself as she gently strokes her girlfriend’s back, the black robes a little bobbled and very soft after years of wear.

Gigi cries quietly until the bell for the exam goes off. The second it does, it’s like a switch is hit and she stands up - like a robot when you’ve pressed the activation. She brushes down her (still perfectly smooth) skirt and holds out her hand to pull Nicky up from where they were both sitting on the floor. Nicky squeezes the hand in support and Gigi nods.

“Slughorn won’t kill you if you’re a few minutes late, mon chérie,” Nicky whispers, chin pressed against Gigi’s shoulder blade as she stands behind her slightly taller partner.

“It’s just potions,” Gigi replies, staring straight at the large oak doors that stand between her and her second to last exam. “I can do potions.” She’s not convincing Nicky, but if she’s convincing herself, the blonde supposes it’s okay.

She gets an O for Outstanding in her final grades. None of them are surprised.

They’ve somehow all managed to fit onto Gigi’s bed - the green covers bunched under five seventeen-year-olds lounging around. Crystal has her feet on Nicky’s lap and her head on Jan’s, having claimed she’s being neglected. She has Quaffle sat like a loaf on her stomach, Gigi sat next to her, stroking him, so he kneads his claws into the soft, ribbed fabric of her tank top.

Jackie tries to toss a Bertie Bott’s Every Flavoured Bean into Jan’s mouth, but it falls and hits Crystal in the eye, so they start playing a game of ricocheting them off Jan’s face and trying to get them into Crystal’s open mouth. She mostly just ends up laying there, gaping like a fish out of water until Nicky tickles her foot and she squirms in a way that causes the cat to freak out and dig every claw into the pale flesh of her stomach. She yells a profanity, and the whole room bursts out laughing before they all remember the time and wince.

It’s three a.m.

Professor Longbottom is anything but lovely at three in the morning. Thankfully for the still silently giggling girls, they appear to have kept quiet enough not to have woken anyone, but it does spark something in Gigi.

She smirks to herself, prompting Nicky to poke her gently in the ribs.

“I know that look,” she says, eyebrows raised in amusement, and Gigi just raises an eyebrow back.

“Fuck,” Jackie says, looking between them. “This won’t end well, will it?”

“Who wants to play Quidditch?”

There’s a lull as everyone silently hopes she’s joking. To be fair - she’s the captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team and she’s damn good. Jackie is a Chaser for Ravenclaw, and Crystal and Jan are beaters for Hufflepuff. They’re all pretty fucking good.

Nicky on the other hand…

“Baby,” she whispers worriedly as the others pull on sweatshirts and grab their brooms. “You do remember I can’t fly.”

Gigi does remember. She remembers very well how she’d planned a romantic flight only to have Nicky turn white as a ghost the second they entered the Quidditch pitch. She remembers how the French girl had squeezed her tight and cursed under her breath muttering words Gigi couldn’t understand, and yet understood perfectly.

“It’ll be fine,” she assuages. “Just hold on tight honey, it’ll be fun.”

It is fun. It’s very fun. Once they sneak out and get over the whole not having balls thing, they have a whale of a time, swooping and diving around each other like they used to when they were thirteen and cared less. Or maybe cared more - Gigi forgets as the air whistles past her ears. She feels Nicky’s face pressed against her back and she takes one hand off the broom to squeeze one of the hands wrapped tightly around her waist, fingers clawing the fabric for anything to grab onto.

“You remind me of Quaffle,” she muses, which is the absolute wrong thing to say to your volatile French girlfriend when she is scared and tired.

“I better not remind you of your putain de cat,” she curses, fingernails digging in even through Gigi’s thick Slytherin team sweatshirt.

Nicky had previously commented that she thought they were all adorable in their matching Quidditch sweatshirts, so they’d gone to the house elves and gotten her one made. They’d had such an argument over the house she was in they’d ended up just getting Hogwarts and its crest sewn onto the front, and the light grey just made it look soft and warm. Nicky always looks soft and warm. This is a thought Gigi often has as she watches her girlfriend sit in bed, rereading Kurt Vonnegut with Gigi’s glasses on.

She’s really not ready to let her go.

They have to say goodbye at the gates, but, really, the whole day is one long goodbye.

Nicky says goodbye to Quaffle as she packs her stuff away neatly into her trunk, sneaking in Gigi’s white converse, but having to remove Gig’s cat multiple times, because he is a nuisance. He’ll come to France in September, but he seems really keen on getting a head start.

She says goodbye to her bedding, although she barely slept in it, and to the way Jan doesn’t wake up, and to morning yoga, and Crystal throwing things, and to Jackie reading softly in the evenings.

She says goodbye to breakfast (it’s waffles, and Jan is wide awake), and to the ceiling, which is a bright blue, and fills you with warmth just looking at it.

She says goodbye to Professor McGonagall, who might be one of her all-time favourite people, and she turns a napkin into a silver butterfly for her, making the woman crack a smile.

She says goodbye to Jan and Jackie being a disgusting couple at the same dining table, but makes them promise to write. Jan just scoffs and pretends she’s not crying, and reminds her they’ll see her at Christmas when they’ll all be smoking hot. Jackie doesn’t pretend she’s not crying. She just gives her her favourite astronomy book and tells her she’ll be missed.

Crystal gives a long-winded speech about how Nicky was like a family pet or something she’s pretty sure was just an odd English saying, and Jackie punches her, but she knows enough not to ask, and just lets the brunette hug her tightly, fixing the girl’s hair with a charm before she leaves.

She says goodbye to Gigi at the gate.

She’s not ready to, not really, but she gives it a go.

“I love you,” she says, earnest and raw.

“Je t'aime davantage,” Gigi replies and her eyes are whirlpools Nicky could fall right into. She’s pretty sure she already has.

“Impossible,” she whispers.

And then she lets go.

Genevieve,

I miss you so much! I am counting down the days until September arrives, I just can’t wait. I hope your summer is fun, I know you are spending it with your uncle, he seems wonderful - tell me more about him.

How are Janet and Jaqueline? You must tell them to write about Jackie’s time away from home (it’s a good thing they’re lesbians and cannot get pregnant). Does Crystal write over the summer? She told me she would get a butterfly tattoo for me and I do not know if she was joking. It sounds like her. How unfortunate.

I miss you and your stupid cat. I love you. I cannot wait to see you.

Write soon!

La tienne,

Nicoletta.

Ps: If you dare call me Nicoletta you will be dead before you can apologise. <3

#rpdr fanfiction #gigi goode #nicky doll #gigi x nicky #jankie #jan sport #jackie cox #crystal methyd #harry potter au #fluff #almost smut #terrible french #fucking adorable #papillionlisse #pinkgrapefruit #s12

32 notes · View notes

eryiss · 4 years

Text

Request: A Pattern of Dots and Dashes

Summary: Laxus has always been good at seeing patterns. So when Freed starts to tap out a pattern, Laxus can't help but pick up on it. The more he thinks about it, the more it drives him crazy. But as he looks into what this pattern means, he starts to realise just how romantic his boyfriend can be. [Fraxus One Shot]

This was part of a prompt based request thing I'm doing, based off of a request focused around sweet gestures and subtle touches, made by Tumblr user: @fairiesherefairiesthere. I went a bit off the prompt, but I'm happy with how it turned out. I hope you all enjoy and if you have a request please leave a comment or maybe talk to me Tumblr.

You can read this on FanFiction, Archive of our Own, or under the cut. Hope you enjoy it ^.^

A Pattern of Dots and Dashes.

Laxus had always been good at recognising patterns.

It was an odd little talent, one that was very rarely useful in his line of work, but it was one he had non the less. He didn't know where this talent had come from, but it seemed that whenever some kind of pattern was in place, he could find it relatively easy. It could be something visual, something he heard, or even something he smelt.

He had a few ideas as to what might have caused it. It could have been that his dragon senses made it easier to pick up on things. It could be that, after having the dragon lacrima forced into him, he focused on anything that could distract him from the pain and looking for patterns helped in some way. Or maybe he was just the kind of person who looked out for patterns in the world and there was no greater reason for it.

It didn't matter, really.

What did matter was a certain pattern Laxus had picked up on. A pattern that Freed Justine was responsible for.

Freed and Laxus had been dating for months now. It was a private thing, neither wanting to deal with the hassle of their guildmates finding out and jumping to conclusions about their future. Perhaps Bickslow and Evergreen knew, the two knew Freed and Laxus better than anyone else after all. But for all it was important, their relationship was private to the two of them and nobody else needed to be involved.

Something that had shocked Laxus was how intimate Freed could be. He wasn't interested in public displays of affection, but he did small things that made Laxus smile. It was little actions, like a firm pat on the shoulder if Freed walked behind him in the guild, or a quick glance and smirk when something happened that Freed knew would amuse Laxus. Just small things.

Even thinking about him made Laxus feel warm inside.

But recently something new had happened. Laxus had no idea if it was related to their relationship, but he felt that it must. Because Freed had repeated this little pattern multiple times over the last few weeks, and it was always in a way that Laxus would be aware of. It felt like a message, but Laxus didn't know what it was.

The first time, it was when they woke up side by side. They had been kissing, waking themselves up properly, when Freed's fingernail scraped across the back of Laxus' neck. This wasn't abnormal, but the pattern in which he did it stayed in Laxus' mind.

Tap. Scrape. Tap. Tap.

Laxus had dismissed it immediately, his boyfriend was in his bed and kissing him after all, and for the rest of the day it had been forgotten. However, when they went to the market the next day, as Freed was looking over a fruit vendors stock, he made a clicking noise with his tongue.

Click. A click with a pause. Then two more quick clicks.

It was the same pattern, and Laxus immediately recognised it. He couldn't remember where from exactly, but he knew for sure that he had heard it before. For a few minutes he tried to think where it had come from, but then Freed suggested that maybe they get something to eat at one of the hot food stores and the appeal of cooked pork overthrew most of Laxus' senses.

The next time it happened was on a mission. They had been called in to see the mayor of a small town who was having issues with a group of bandits. They were waiting in the mayor's office and Freed tapped out the same pattern again on the desk.

Tap. Tap and pause. Tap. Tap.

Throughout the rest of the week, he heard it again and again. When they were walking together, Freed patted his finger against his thigh to the pattern. When playing his violin, Freed had begun a song with that pattern. Even when he was cooking, Freed had removed residual soup from the wooden spoon by tapping it on the ridge of the pot in the pattern.

It seemed to be a thing Freed did now, and Laxus didn't understand why.

Furthermore, he had gotten so used to it that he felt as though the pattern was missing now. Freed and the Raijinshuu had gone on a mission and had been gone for two days, leaving Laxus alone. This wasn't an unusual occurrence, and normally Laxus wouldn't have cared, but he now found himself expecting the pattern to appear. The fact that it didn't felt as if he was missing something. It wasn't bothering him, exactly, but he couldn't exactly think of anything else. So, as he sat at the bar and nursed a tankard of beer, he found himself questioning what the sound was. And where had it come from.

His immediate thought was that Freed had a song stuck in his head, but it didn't make sense. The pattern wasn't a rhythm – not a good one anyway – and surely he wouldn't have fixated on a song for weeks.

For a second, he had considered maybe Freed had some kind of spell put on him. But again, it made no sense. What kind of spell advertised itself so obviously? And Laxus knew Freed's magic, he could tell if something new had been added to it. A long-lasting spell would have been obvious.

Other than that, no explanations had come to mind. Which was annoying.

Not quite as annoying as the fact that he was now tapping his tankard in the same damn pattern.

Clink. Clink and a pause. Clink. Clink.

Maybe that was why Freed was doing it, just to be an asshole and get the stupid little chime stuck in his head as some sort of weird prank. Laxus wouldn't put it past him; Freed had a mischievous side, as subtle as it may be. He also had a weird sense of humour, so perhaps this really was him. Laxus smiled a little at the thought.

He probably should stop thinking about it. There was no reason to, it wasn't as if he could get a definitive answer without Freed being there. All he was doing now was-

"Okay, you seriously need to fucking stop that."

Laxus looked up from his beer at the sound of Gajeel's raspy voice. The other dragon slayer was looking at him with an expression of annoyance, his ridiculous metal eyebrow twitching a little as he did so. Laxus at up a little straighter, putting on an equally annoyed expression. Couldn't a man drink in peace?

"The hell d'you mean?"

"The fucking tapping you've been doing for like twenty minutes," Gajeel continued, apparently not put off by Laxus' stature. "It's fucking annoying, so cut it out or fuck off and do it somewhere else."

He'd been doing it for that long? He hadn't realised it was that bad.

"Why should I move, kid?" Laxus butted back, hoping 'kid' got under Gajeel's skin. Annoyingly, he seemed unaware of it.

"I just fucking said, it's annoying," Gajeel reiterated, turning to face Laxus. "I mean what the hell even is it. Who fucking taps the same damn thing again and again for half an hour?"

So it was half an hour now? Either Gajeel had some time magic nobody knew about or he was just exaggerating to make his pissy attitude seem more justified. Laxus was going to say just as much when another voice spoke up.

"Sounds like Morse Code," The voice said, and Gajeel turned to show Laxus that Levy was sitting on the other side of the iron dragon slayer. Both Laxus and Gajeel looked at her with confusion. "Well, it is Morse Code. I think it's an L, actually."

Morse Code. Laxus knew what it was, of course, but he didn't know how to speak it; well, speak isn't the right word. But it made sense that Freed would know, given that he seemed to know every damn language under the sun. And tapping out secret messages would definitely be the type of thing he would do, the fucking smartass. But why would be just keep saying L over and over again? It didn't really make sense.

But still, it was an explanation. And something he could do to occupy his time alone.

He stood up from the bar, leaving his beer half drunk and making a note to remember Gajeel's comment about him not being smart enough to know what Morse Code was; the iron bastard would regret it later. He stalked past the stairs and towards the Guild's library, an expression of determination painted onto his features.

There would be a book on Morse Code in there somewhere; if there were books on all the random languages Freed wanted to learn about, there would be one on Morse Code. And the time it took to find it gave Laxus some thinking time.

The more he thought about it, the more the repetition of the letter L made sense.

Freed had shown himself to be something of a romantic, in a downplayed way. Knowing that Levy – and perhaps others – knew Morse code meant that messaged told in it wouldn't be private. So maybe it was just a small romantic gesture from Freed. It seemed too coincidental that Freed would be tapping out his first initial whenever they were around each other. Maybe it was something that Freed did to show his feelings; it sort of made sense.

Laxus wished he had a way of communicating his feelings better. Words had never been his strongpoint, and he was even worse at being honest with his feelings. He never could be vulnerable.

But he wanted to be. He really did. Because these few months of dating Freed, it made him realise a lot about himself. Freed was perhaps the most important person in his life, and he wanted to let him know. Let him know that he loved him.

Because he did. He really did.

And as his fingers ran across a book named 'A History of Coded Languages', an idea came to mind.

-~---~-

When Freed returned to his home, he was exhausted.

It was just past midnight, he had been walking for hours in the rain because of a cancelled train journey, and the cuts covering his body from the mission he'd been on were starting to irritate him as they rubbed against his sodden clothes. Needless to say, he was incredibly happy to be back in his home.

He moved without thinking. He went to his bedroom, had a warm shower that was the perfect remedy for the dirty rain that had been beating down on him for hours, treated the wounds that would need to be bandaged when he went to the guild, put on some comfortable clothes, and went to his living room. A fire was roaring within moments and the heat from the open flame was heavenly. As the room started to heat up, Freed walked to the kitchen to make himself a pot of Chamomile tea; he was in an annoying middle ground of being exhausted but not actually tired.

As he waited for his kettle to boil, he saw that Laxus' sound pods resting on the kitchen table. Freed frowned a little; the blonde rarely went anywhere without them. Freed knew that he was on a mission – it was unfortunate that their missions overlapped, but it happened.

The rune mage walked slowly towards them, to see the headphones were resting on a small note written in Laxus' handwriting. He picked it up and smiled a little at what he saw.

'Made a puzzle for ya, see if you can figure it out. Smartass.'

He laughed a little at the note, including the small kiss that had been put at the end that had been crossed out. He slid the headphones over his ears and went to press play, but the kettle started to whistle. He made himself the tea, walked into his sitting room and rested in the large leather chair that he did most of his reading in, and pushed the play button on the side of the headphones. For a second, he heard a small amount of scraping, before the tapping began.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

He knew that it was immediately, and he smiled. So Laxus had picked up on his use of Morse Code, and was apparently using it now. The rune mage paused the track, picked up one of the notepads that he had lying around his house. Once he was ready, he restarted to track and began to write out what Laxus had coded.

... . -.- / -. . .-. -..

Hey Nerd.

Freed smirked a little at the nickname Laxus had taken to giving him. While it wasn't exactly flattering, he saw it as a sign of endearment that Laxus had started to use, and the rune mage wasn't bothered by it. It was cute, in a certain way.

.. / .- - / -. - - / -. - - -.. / .- .. - ... / .- - .-. -.. ... / ... - / .. / .- .. .-.. .-.. / .- ..- ... - / ... .- -.- / .. - .-.-.-

I am not good with words so I will just say it.

After translating the second sentence, Freed found a little. The rune mage knew his boyfriend well, even the small sentence told Freed that this was something serious. Laxus had never been good at speaking about his feelings – no doubt the result of his father's bad parenting – but perhaps this was a way of doing it for him.

.. / .-.. - ...- . / -.- - ..- .-.-.- / .. / .- - / .. -. / .-.. - ...- . / .- .. - ... / -.- - ..-

I love you. I am in love with you.

Freed looked down at the words he had written. He re-translated it again, just to be sure, and found himself smiling wide when the same result came out. Laxus had just confessed his love for him, he didn't know how to react to that. But damn was he happy about it, and he felt a fire burning inside of him.

Laxus loved him. Just as much as he loved Laxus. They were in love with each other. The feeling was… euphoric.

But, as much as he wanted to let that feeling sink in, the message wasn't over. He pressed play again.

... - .-. .-. -.- / - ... .. ... / .. ... / -. - - / .- / -.. .. .-. . -.-. - / .- .- -.- / - ..-. / -.. - .. -. -. / .. - .-.-.- / -... ..- - / .. / .-.. - ...- . / -.- - ..- .-.-.-

Sorry this is not a direct way of doing it. But I love you.

Freed felt a small laugh split his lips apart. Of course Laxus would second guess his declaration of love. He didn't need to, though. Because Laxus had learned a language just for the sake of this message, and the effort that he put into this was spectacular. Freed would make sure Laxus knew how much he appreciated what Laxus had done for him when he returned. With a smile on his face, Freed pressed the play button again.

... . . / -.- - ..- / .- ... . -. / .. / -. . - / -... .- -.-. -.- .-.-.- / .-.. - ...- . / -.- - ..- .-.-.-

See you when I get back. Love you.

-~---~-

Upon returning from his mission, Laxus found arms wrapped around his neck. He was pulled into a kiss by his boyfriend, one that he was happy to return. He dropped his bags on the floor of his hallway and wrapped his arms around Freed's waist, leaning down and strengthening the kiss. Returning from a mission to a kiss was something Laxus was very quickly getting used to.

Honestly, he was shocked he had lived without it for so long.

When they pulled apart, Laxus smiled at Freed. "Hey."

"I love you too," Freed said immediately, his smile heavenly. Laxus felt a rush of exhilaration at his words, an equally love-filled smile plastering itself on his face.

"You do?" He asked, voice cracking slightly.

"Of course I do, idiot," Freed whispered, resting his forehead against Laxus' shoulder. Laxus pulled him a little closer. "And before you ask, learning Morse Code to tell me that you love me, perhaps the sexiest thing you – or any man – has ever done."

"Of course you'd think that," Laxus chuckled, before tilting Freed's chin to initiate eye contact. "I do love you, Freed."

"I love you too, Laxus."

And within a moment, they were kissing again. As they did, Laxus felt Freed's finger scraping against his neck again; the same pattern that had been plaguing his mind for weeks. It made the blonde smile and lean further into the kiss. He knew what the pattern meant now; it was Freed's way of saying that he loved him.

Dot. Dash. Dot. Dot.

So, just as Freed would affirm his love for Laxus by tapping out Morse Code for L, Laxus would do the same for Freed by tapping out Morse Code for F.

Dot. Dot. Dash. Dot

#fraxus #freed justine #Laxus Dreyar #request #freed x laxus #fanfic #fairy tail #writing

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storyiicharacter · 5 years

Note

fanfiction mashup: its not you its my enemies + marriage of convenience :D

Strategic. That’s what Lillian had called it. An alliance born of mutual need, cemented by the union of two royal daughters.

A marriage by name only. Lena had made as much clear to Kara Zor-El the first day they met- had kept her chin aloft, her heart disinterested. She’d been prepared from a young age for this reality, had determined that it didn’t matter who the suitor was- she would smile and play the part at events and gatherings- so long as she were allowed to continue her research uninhibited. Play-acting for the nobles was a fair trade for spending her days apprenticing in the infirmary, the forge, the gardens- her mind free to soak in as much as it could.

The Kryptonian had agreed- not that she had much choice. Her people were in desperate need of this alliance after the devastation of Kandor, the mountain’s ash still choking the land, their crops tainted, their forests barren. Lena allowed herself to bristle at the resignation in those blue eyes, to interpret it as disdain, to add Kara Zor-El to the long, long list of people who saw Lena only for her name- a name with they feared and envied, hated and desired in equal parts.

She did not allow herself to see a kindred spirit in the taller woman- to recognize the familiar weight of grief and expectation on those broad shoulders.

She didn’t.

It would not do to try and force the union into a shape it is not. Love had never been part of the equation within the Luthor family- her own parents were evidence enough of that. And to expect anything other than a dutiful political partner would merely be foolish, a heaping serving of disappointment she would rightly deserve.

And so it was agreed. An alliance. Nothing more.

Kara is true to her word- in public she is a brilliant actress, the picture of grace and contentment, embodying the strong alliance between their people. And careful- despite the image they needed to maintain, so, so careful not to cross Lena’s boundaries, not to make her uncomfortable. When the occasion calls for it, she would reach for Lena- always stopping just before contact, allowing Lena to close the distance to grasp Kara’s hand, to step into her side.

The rest of the time, she leaves Lena alone, just as Lena had asked.

It is, surprisingly, everything Lena had hoped for. The best case scenario, given that a partner chosen for love was not an option. And so Lena settles back into her routine, much as it had been, her duty to marry complete, the Kryptonian heir tucked away in the recesses of her mind as she was the lonely corridors of her wing of the castle, barely an afterthought.

Weeks turn to months, and as Lena’s work load lessens (she and the head healer having finally perfected their latest poultice), she comes to the slow realization that Kara hasn’t been making herself scarce.

Rather, she’s everywhere.

One day she’s assisting the servants in the hall outside their wing, blonde hair braided back, sharp pants tucked into tall leather boots, her easy grin matched by the girl and boy wielding mops beside her.

A few days later she spots Kara in the kitchen, covered in flour, sleeves rolled to reveal corded forearms that shift and flex with each press and roll of a large mound of dough.

The head chef- notorious for his iron grip upon said kitchen and all happenings within it- bustles about the far end of the massive room, stirring and chopping, as languid as Lena’s ever seen him.

With her view from the balcony Lena can’t be certain, but she would still swear that the lithe form moving gracefully through the morning fog, staff cracking against the wooden sword held by one of the soldiers, is not another of their knights, but rather the lone Kryptionian in their court.

One day she finds Kara by accident, in the library- her gaze drawn upward by the rustle of fabric. She’s shocked to see Kara perched atop one of the soaring bookcases, back pressed to the wall, book in hand and one leg dangling, unperturbed by the height. Lena watches light glint off golden hair and thinks perhaps it’s not a coincidence that Kara’s is the one spot still lit by the sinking afternoon sun.

And when Lena finally goes to spend some much-neglected time with her mare, she finds that Kara has taken over the grooming duties in her stead- Neville’s normal ornery demeanor nowhere to be found as the blonde woman strokes a brush through his coat, soft words murmured in a language Lena doesn’t understand. Kara apologizes profusely when Lena arrives, and by her blush it’s clear the other woman would’ve preferred that Lena continue believing the stable hands were to credit for the meticulous work done maintaining Neville’s care.

Lena’s thank you is met with a soft smile and a ducked head, Kara quickly making her leave- though not before stopping to stroke the chestnut’s nose one last time.

Her ears and eyes now tuned to it, Lena discovers more and more about the character of the woman to whom she is married.

Where Lena had drawn boundaries- her personal rooms, her lab- there is no sign of Kara to be found. But now that she’s looking, Lena spies signs of Kara’s touch everywhere else: extra blankets on the lounge and a fully-stocked bin of firewood beside the hearth in the common room. Notes left on scraps of parchment, thanking the servants. Fresh flowers in the vase outside Lena’s rooms.

It would also seem that Kara Zor-El is unfailingly kind, and deeply loved by the people serving within the castle walls.

Where Lena is greeted with respectful nods, straightened backs and averted eyes, Kara’s presence is followed by enthusiastic greetings, broad smiles, the press of hands or bodies or arms clasped together.

Lena stumbles upon such a scene one evening- a late-night gathering in the kitchen, with mead passed and stories told and laughter shared. The open affection displayed shakes her deeply- mind spinning as she realizes her own interactions with these people were based on the example of her parents and the other nobles. She’d been fair, respectful, never unkind, certainly- but this?

It had never occurred to her to befriend the staff.

Clever blue eyes spot Lena just outside the room, and assess- not with judgement, just hopeful curiosity. And when Kara’s hand is extended- calloused fingers held in invitation, yet without expectation-

Against her better judgment, against every instinct honed under Lillian’s watchful gaze- Lena steps forward to close the gap.

Kara’s brilliant smile outshines the awkward pause of voices, of breaths held, and as Kara introduces her around to tentative smiles and gentle greetings, Lena feels her world shift.

Weeks turn to months and it’s in the middle of a cold autumn night that Lena realizes she’s made an unforgivable mistake.

She’s come to care for Kara Zor-El.

This, in and of itself, is not such a terrible thing. And truly, once she had seen who Kara is- kind & thoughtful, brilliant but humble, strong and beautiful and true- there was no stopping it, no going back.

Her mistake was letting anyone else know.

And as she pulls against the arm around her throat, struggling to keep her feet on the rain-slicked floor of her room, she remembers.

It is not safe to be close to a Luthor.

Luthors are known for their ruthlessness, their cold calculation- it makes them extremely powerful, and such power will always draw those that seek to take it.

By whatever means necessary.

Kara is thrashing against the hold of the other men- three masked attackers who had dragged Kara, hands bound, into Lena’s room shortly after Lena had been yanked from her own sleep by the sound of breaking glass, pulled bodily from the bed by gloved hands.

Red is pooling beneath Kara’s knees- whether from skin meeting the scattered shards of Lena’s window or the garish streaks of blood sliding down Kara’s cheek and dripping off her chin, Lena doesn’t know-

But this is her fault.

“You’ll do it, or your wife is dead.” The voice in her ear is silken and smooth and terrifying in its surety.

There hasn’t been an attempt on the royal family in generations.

When everyone knows power comes before all else, the leverage simply isn’t there.

Wasn’t there.

Kara takes another blow, this one doubling her over with a grunt. Lena’s scream is stuck in her throat, piling against all the words she would take back, if only to stop this- all the ones she desperately needs to say, now that they’re here.

Kara is slow to straighten, but when she does steady blue eyes find Lena’s, permission and acceptance and something that looks an awful lot like love held within them.

“Protect our people.”

And Lena sees- sees that she was a fool to have not seen this coming. To have not counted the cost of her affection. To have not heeded her mother’s warnings.

“You are strong and good and-“ Kara is cut off by a fist that snaps her head to the side. A sharp keening escapes Lena’s lungs, fingers digging into the arms clamped around her.

Kara spits a mouthful of blood, defiant even as she sags in the grip of her captors.

“The best of them,” she whispers fiercely, finding Lena’s gaze again, eyes bright with unshed tears.

Thunder claps, a gavel cracking, the judgement made, their fate set.

Lena knows then.

That Kara would’ve been a queen unlike any other.

That together they could have changed everything.

That theirs would’ve been a love story that shook the foundations of the earth.

With a shuddering breath, Lena nods. She holds Kara’s eyes, sees the agreement, the forgiveness in them.

She cannot give in.

“Go to hell,” Lena bites out.

Rough hands whip her around until she’s facing into that dark mask and the sinister eyes within. They search her face but Lena’s features are locked into the cool, stony indifference her family is so known for, and she simply raises an eyebrow.

Kara’s heart swells with pride as Lena stands firm.

She straightens as much as she can, determined to draw her last breath with a defiance worthy of their people.

Lena’s captor’s composure finally slips as he scans Lena’s face, a snarl of frustration ripping out from beneath his mask.

He draws a breath, leveling a glare at Kara, ready to bark the order. “Kill-“

CLANG

He collapses, revealing a frying pan held aloft in the enormous hands of Chef Victor. “Now!” Victor shouts.

The bedroom door slams open with a bang, bodies pouring in- stable hands and errand boys and Lena’s handmaiden leading the charge with an unearthly howl, fire poker held aloft.

The other men whirl in surprise and Kara takes advantage of the chaos. She pulls a short sword from the belt of one of the men, slashing his leg and smashing the hilt into his face when he doubles over in pain. She rolls forward, narrowly avoiding a sword strike that cracks into the stone and losing her own weapon in the process.

The other two attackers are occupied fending off pans and broomsticks but the third charges after Kara with a roar.

She scrambles backward, hands still bound, slipping on the blood-slick floor, too slow-

CHINGGGGG

His sword clangs to a stop against the hilt of the short sword- now held in Lena’s hands.

“That’s my wife!” Lena snarls. Blades locked, she pushes forward until her hilt slams into his, forcing him back a step. She then grins and promptly knees him in the groin.

Heart soaring, Kara can’t help the shout of joy that escapes. She staggers to her feet despite the pounding in her head, looking for another weapon, ready to join in the fray- only to find she isn’t needed.

The leader hasn’t moved. The one she slashed in the leg is down, Victor and the others are herding the second man back toward the broken balcony doors, and the third-

He’s curled on the floor, down for the count. Lena slides his blade to one of the stablehands and the final man drops his sword in surrender just as the palace guards spill into the room.

Lena lowers her sword as the guards take the men into custody, turning to find-

Kara.

She is leaning heavily against the dresser across the room, but she’s smiling, a proud grin setting her face alight, and hope and relief and wonder war for space within Lena’s chest.

She wordlessly hands her sword away, striding through the now-crowded room to Kara’s side.

Kara tries to step forward to meet Lena but stumbles, wincing. Lena rushes forward, catching Kara’s weight just as her legs give out, sliding them both to the floor beside the dresser as gently as she can.

Kara’s head rolls heavily toward her chest and Lena gently cups her face, checking her injuries. “Kara, darling, try to stay away for me, alright?”

Kara forces her eyes open unevenly. “Yes, dear.” She grins despite the exhaustion and the pain trying to drag her into slumber and Lena’s heart trips within her chest as it swells with affection.

Victor appears at her side, bushy brows drawn in concern, the others crowding in behind him. “What can we do?”

“Send a runner for the healer, and if one of you would please bring a damp cloth from the wash room?” She’s handed one moments later, presses it to the worst of the cuts along Kara’s face.

Kara releases a deep sigh, leaning into Lena’s hand.

Lena smiles. “She’s going to be alright.”

She looks at the many faces around them- at the love and care and protectiveness there- and the gratitude wells until tears prick behind her eyes. “We both are. Thanks to all of you.”

Victor lays a comforting hand on her shoulder, his own eyes glimmering. “Aw Ms. Luthor, don’t go getting soft on us now.”

Lena chuckles along with the others, sniffing as she shakes her head.

Kara peeks an eye open and smirks at Victor. “Told you.” The gaze she turns on Lena is unmistakable, even bruised and bloody, and something essential slots into place in Lena’s chest.

Love.

///

#supercorp #prompt fill #mashup #supercorp fic #asks #mine #whats that you say?#im constantly thinking about them in medieval/fantasy settings and it took all my willpower to only use it in one prompt?#sounds about right #(bud great prompt tho- clearly right up my alley)

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alienspawnwrites · 4 years

Text

Laying Hands Chapter 3

Read on AO3

End of Introductions

Tony Stark was clearly very rich. If having his own skyscraper hadn't been an obvious clue, the casual glamour of the interior of the building certainly reflected his wealth. The open floor plan and comfortable living areas were a far cry from Althea's previous arrangement with the group she now knew as Hydra.

Tony proudly escorted Althea through the building, showing her to the lounge first. A large sunken floor was ringed by deep, plush couches. A long row of window cushioned seats ran along the floor to ceiling windows of the room, looking extremely warm and inviting even in setting sun. The bar occupied pride of place near the center of the room, and he boasted that it held just about every liquor ever produced. One wall was dominated by huge bookshelves. Combined, they contained more books than Althea had ever seen outside the public library she had frequented as a child. On another wall hung a massive television screen, and she marveled at how thin the electronic was. Technology had certainly advanced during her years in confinement. The space had a small kitchenette stockpiled with various drinks and snacks as well as a large round table with room enough to seat ten, at least. Tony informed her he had once tried to initiate a game night, his tone indicating the attempt had not gone well.

A few floors down, the kitchen proper was no less impressive or technologically advanced. Tony pointed out various appliances, going over their functions with dizzying speed. Some looked familiar, others looked to her like something straight out of an episode of Star Trek. Even the refrigerator was outfitted with it's own display panel, though Althea couldn't fathom what possible purpose they could serve. It was a cold box; why would anyone feel the need to attach a computer to something so simple?

Steve, who had joined them for the tour, noticed her obvious confusion. "Don't worry," he whispered, leaning in. "It took me forever to figure this stuff out too. I still can't make a normal cup of coffee on that thing." He pointed to a device that looked to be more buttons than machine. "I keep making something Tony calls a 'frappe'." His exaggerated look of frustration earned a chuckle from Althea. He smiled, happy she was starting to feel at ease. "It is delicious, though."

Below the dining floor, Tony explained, were the sleeping quarters of everyone on the team. "Except for me, of course. I'm up top in the penthouse. They might call it 'Avengers Tower' but I still pay the bills. That comes with certain perks."

Tony had just shown Althea to what was to be her bedroom when they were interrupted by a voice emanating from the watch on Tony's wrist. "Sir, Miss Romanoff has returned. She is waiting for you in the debriefing room." Althea was hardly surprised to learn Tony had a stereotypical British butler. What kind of eccentric billionaire would he be without one?

"Ah. Looks like the rest of the tour is going to have to wait until later. We'll let you settle in while we get everyone caught up to speed. Feel free to explore if you want, though I imagine you're probably tuckered out after today. If you need anything just ask J.A.R.V.I.S."

"Jarvis?" Thea looked around. She hadn't seen anyone other than Tony and Steve during the entirety of their tour.

"How can I help you, ma'am," came the same British voice as before. Althea started and looked around, searching desperately for its source.

"J.A.R.V.I.S. is an artificial intelligence program, a computer if you must, of my own invention. He runs just about everything around here," Stark explained. "J.A.R.V.I.S., meet Thea. She's going to be staying with us for a while. Let's start with level 3 clearance for now and go from there."

"Very well, sir."

"We'll come get you later. You should meet the rest of the team once you've gotten some rest." Steve gave her a last parting smile before he and Tony turned, leaving her alone in her new quarters.

Althea examined the room. It was simple but incredibly spacious, outfitted with a king size bed covered with a plush blue bedspread, and a pair of long, low dressers. Curious, she opened one of the drawers, but found it empty. For a moment she debated asking Tony's A.I. butler for a change of clothes, but decided against it. Even if it was capable of filling the request, a new wardrobe would probably be too bold for her first day. The room only had one window, albeit a large one, located just behind the bed. Through it, Althea had commanding view of the city, no less impressive in the waning light of the nearly set sun. Again, she found herself captivated by the sight, unable to tear her attention away for several minutes.

When at last she turned away, she noticed a second door stood on the far side of the room. She opened it cautiously, revealing a pristine bathroom. As she stepped inside, her movement in the large wall-mounted mirror caught her eye and she stopped to investigate her reflection.

She couldn't remember the last time she had properly seen herself, and she was unimpressed at the sight. If she didn't know better, Althea would say she looked sickly. She fingered a lock of her lackluster hair, rubbing the dry strands between her fingers. The understated luxury of her surroundings only highlighted her pathetic appearance. Suddenly, she remembered Steve had mentioned meeting 'the rest', and she grew even more self-conscious.

She decided a shower could do nothing but improve her sad condition, and was pleased to find towels conveniently laid out nearby. Even better, she noticed, she was able to lock the bathroom from the inside. Althea couldn't recall the last time she had locked someone out, rather than been locked in. The small taste of power helped her relax. She removed her clothes, hoping J.A.R.V.I.S. wasn't somehow watching, and stepped into the shower.

She emerged from the bathroom clean and redressed, toweling off her damp hair. The shower had been well stocked, and she held out hope that the conditioner she had found would make some improvement on her unhealthy locks. At the very least she smelt a good deal better. A small platter of food had been placed atop a box on the dresser in her absence, and Althea became aware of just how hungry she was. She immediately set about devouring the simple meal: a turkey sandwich and a packet of crisps. It wasn't until she had polished off the last remaining crumb that she paid the box any mind. Opening it, she found a brand new pair of tennis shoes. The gift brought a smile to Althea's face. They had noticed her shoddy footwear and found her a suitable replacement without her needing to ask. She mentally added a check in the "good guys" column. She added another when she slipped the shoes on, finding them a near-perfect fit.

Althea found she was too nervous to take Tony up on his offer to explore on her own. Truthfully, he had been right: she was exhausted. She carefully laid herself down in the middle of the expansive bed, studying the ceiling above as she ran through the events of the day. Her nerves were far less frayed than they had been just a few hours earlier. The chaos surrounding her meeting the Avengers and her escape from the organization they called Hydra already felt so far away. She silently chastised herself. She didn't know these people. It was too soon to get comfortable and let her guard down. A hot shower and some shoes shouldn't be enough to win her trust; she knew better. Despite her renewed resolve to remain wary, Althea soon drifted into the deep dreamless sleep brought on by physical and mental exhaustion, still wearing her new shoes.

An insistent knocking woke Althea. She shot up and looked around blankly at the now dark room. Her mind raced as she groggily tried to place herself and remember how she had ended up asleep atop the covers of the strange bed. The rapping persisted as the circumstances surrounding her new quarters returned to her, and she leapt out of bed to answer the door.

Althea was still blinking the sleep from her eyes when she opened the door, revealing a rather annoyed looking Tony Stark. "Jesus kid, I was beginning to think you were dead or something. Come one," he waved for her to follow. "The gang's all assembled. They're just dying to meet you." He led her through the halls and to the elevator. Althea's nerves caught up with her as they rode up towards the lounge and she wrung her hands anxiously.

"Don't worry," Tony attempted to console her, noticing her distress. Despite the costumes and nicknames we're all nice enough, pretty normal even. Well, most of us anyway." Before she had a chance to ask for clarification, the doors slid open, revealing five persons scattered about the room.

"Cap you already know," Tony gestured to Steve, now casually dressed in a simple t-shirt and jeans. Maskless and out of costume he looked surprisingly... normal. "As well as Natasha, though I don't think you guys had a chance to properly introduce yourselves." Natasha nodded towards Althea in greeting, even gracing her with a small smile though it didn't seem to reach her eyes. Despite the relaxed setting she still appeared to be all business.

"Let's move on to the new faces." Tony clapped his hands and spun to face the rest of the assembled group. "Bruce here, well he's probably the second smartest person on the team, next to myself of course." A timid looking man with graying hair gave her a small wave. "Don't be fooled though. He may look like a mild-mannered scientist, but he's got one hell of an anger issue. Best not to push it, unless you want to butt heads with the not-so-jolly green giant." Althea was suitably confused, and Bruce's bashful reaction did nothing to clarify Tony's meaning.

"I'm not, that's not really the whole story. It's.. it's complicated," stammered Bruce. Althea looked between the two men for an explaination.

"Oh 'complicated' doesn't even begin to describe you, does it Brucey."

"Alright stop it, Tony," Steve cut in. "You'll scare her."

"Sorry," he answered, dripping with sarcasm. Then, seeing Althea's anxious face, more seriously, "Sorry. Bruce is a stand up guy, really. Nothing to be scared of. Honestly." Althea gave Bruce a dubious side-long glance but nodded. Despite Tony's insinuations, she couldn't bring herself to be scared of the sheepish looking man.

"I would like to introduce myself to the new girl." Althea spun to face the loud, commanding voice. She found herself face to face, or rather face to chest, with an enormous, brawny man. He was standing so close that she had to crane her next just to see his face. Bright blue eyes sparkled above a broad, sincere smile, framed by a head of sandy blond locks. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Thea. I am Thor, son of Odin, Prince of Asgard and God of Thunder." He offered her a giant hand, which she took hesitantly. His grip was incredibly strong, painfully grinding the bones of her fingers together. Oblivious to her discomfort, he gave her hand a vigorous shake, the force nearly lifting her off her feet.

"God?", she repeated incredulously as he released her. She chose to ignore her sore digits, unconcerned with the obvious damage his zealous greeting had caused.

"Yes, the God of Thunder." He seemed unfazed by her skepticism. "I channel lightening through my hammer, Mjolnir. It was crafted for me by dwarves in the furnaces of Nidavellir. It is very impressive, it has no equal." His words were boastful, but his tone sounded matter-of-fact, as though he were merely conveying mundane facts. Althea slowly turned to Steve, whom she felt to be the most reasonable of the group, for some sort of explanation, but he merely shrugged and nodded.

She turned back to Thor, who was still beaming at her. Althea found herself smiling back, albeit tentatively, at his unbridled affability. "Nice to meet you too, Thor...uh, your majesty?" She added nervously. She had no idea what was proper etiquette when speaking with royalty, let alone a superhuman prince.

"No, no no no, don't do that," cut in Tony. "'Thor is fine. He only gets titles on his own planet. Besides, 'majesty' is for a king, you call a prince 'highness'."

"His planet ?"Althea wheeled on Thor, her eyes wide a saucers. "As in 'not Earth'?"

"This mortal appears denser than the average Midgardian," came a condescending voice from behind Thor. "Why is she here again? Is she some sort of pet?"

Althea noticed the tall, lanky figure for the first time. He stood a little apart from the rest, leaning casually against the kitchenette counter and looking entirely disinterested by the entire situation. He wore street clothes, but they were a far cry from the casual outfits donned by the rest of the assembled Avengers. Instead he wore a fine, expensive looking suit, perfectly tailored to his lithe frame. Every piece of the ensemble was jet black, barely distinguishable from one another. It matched his raven hair and highlighted the paleness of his alabaster skin. Looking at him, Althea was reminded of the marble statues of antiquity.

"Do not mind Loki." Thor strode leisurely over to the man. "It is in my brother's nature to jest." He made to land a good-natured pat on Loki's shoulder, but his hand met no resistance, instead passing through the illusion in a ripple of green light. Thor was caught off balance, and gracelessly stumbled forward a few steps.

The rest of the party momentarily joined in Althea's confusion, though none of them seemed to share her surprise. They all looked around the room. Movement from a dark corner drew their attention, and Althea saw the same figure, Loki, rise from the window seat farthest away from where the rest of the group was seated. Without acknowledging them, he made his way to the door.

"In the future, I ask that you only summon me for important matters... or at least interesting ones," he called out behind him, without turning around.

The entire interaction left Althea stunned, and she closed her gaping mouth, unaware it had fallen open.

"Like I said, most of us are nice," Tony grimaced.

"Forgive him," Thor pleaded on his brother's behalf. "Loki may not be the most courteous, but he has a good heart. It will reveal itself in time."

"Yeah, so you keep saying," came Tony's retort.

Althea turned her attention back to the rest, "Where's Clint...uh, Hawkeye?", Althea wondered aloud. She had been hoping to learn more about the quiet, sullen archer.

"Oh Clint doesn't like to hang around with us much. He's not really the sociable type." Tony didn't seem too bothered by the absence.

"He has his own place," corrected Natasha, and left it at that.

"So, that's introductions out of the way. These are the Avengers: Earth's mightiest heroes, and one sulky jerk. Why don't you tell the class a little about yourself." Tony offered her the floor.

"I, uh, well I don't really know what to say," Althea shifted uncomfortably under their joint scrutiny.

"You could start with what you were doing in a top secret Hydra hideout in the Alleghenies," prompted Natasha.

"I don't even know who or what Hydra is."

"They're an organization bent on world domination, evil as they come by all accounts," Steve explained. "They've got long arms and fingers in just about criminal pie out there. Weapons, covert governments, terrorism, the works. We've been after them for years. They keep us pretty busy, living up to their name. Every time we find one base of operation another two pop up. The raid this morning was just the most recent battle in a long fight."

"We received intel they were working on a special project in the mountains. Intel that led us to you." Natasha pinned Althea with a biting look. "The 'asset'."

Althea stared at her feel, overwhelmed by this new information. She had never entertained the idea that she had suffered in the name of some philanthropic cause, but neither had she imagined anything so heinous or with such a large scope.

"I didn't know what they were doing, or even what they wanted with me. I didn't have a choice."

"How long were you there?" Bruce's voice was soft and sincere.

"I don't know exactly," she conceded. "What year is it?"

"2015," Steve replied.

"2015?", Althea reeled. After a bit of mental math, she had her answer. "Eleven, maybe twelve years."

"Twelve... twelve years? You're telling me you've been down in the bunker since you were a kid? Since Martha Stewart went to prison? Since before Facebook?"

"What's Facebook?", Thor, Steve and Althea all voiced the question in unison.

Tony looked back and forth between the three of them. "Unbelievable. How is it nearly half of the people living in this tower are completely removed from modern, human culture. Honestly, if you only knew the jokes I've wasted on you lot."

"If they kept you around for so long, they must have had a reason," Bruce gently pressed.

Althea only ground her teeth in response. She wanted to tell them, to trust them. She wanted nothing more to unburden herself and count these people as allies, or even eventually friends, but she knew that was only the best case scenario. The countless other possible outcomes kept her mouth shut. True, they seemed trustworthy, if not odd, but she had been here all of a day. It was too soon to know for certain, and she had to be certain.

With a deep breath, she gathered the courage to speak up. "I don't know what they were trying to do. Honestly, I don't. I know you guys want to know why I was there, what it is about me that made them so interested. And I want to tell you, but I... I need time. I just spent nearly half my life held prisoner by what you tell me is an evil, global organization bent on controlling the world. I didn't even know their name until today. I promise I'm not going to hurt anyone. I don't even think I could hurt someone if I tried, let alone any of you. From what I've seen you could take me out without breaking a sweat. But I didn't leave one prison just to hand myself over to another, all because of something I had no say in." She held her breath, hoping they could hear the truth of her words.

"Pretty sure that's the most you've spoken since we picked you up," muttered Tony, breaking the tension that had permeated the room.

"We can give you time," said Steve. He looked around at each of his companions, making sure they understood that the decision had been made. "We'll have to keep an eye on you for now, I hope you understand, keep you confined to the tower. But you're not our prisoner, and when you're ready to tell us, we'll be here."

Althea couldn't help the appreciative smile that crept across her face at his understanding. She added another check to the ever growing 'good guys' tally in her mind.

#loki fic #loki x original female character #loki #fanfic #fan fiction #loki fanfic #romance #slow burn #slow build #angst #loki (marvel)#marvel #mcu fic

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